Lonely Is the Night
by poorpiratelass
Summary: The hunt for the yellow-eyed demon continues as Sam tries to learn more about his gift. Meanwhile, Dean deals - or doesn't deal with John's death, Lynn uncovers a family secret, and Jayne makes some tough choices. Volume 2 of Who the Hell Are You?
1. Everybody Loves a Clown

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Summary: The hunt for the yellow-eyed demon continues as Sam tries to learn more about his gift. Meanwhile, Dean deals – or doesn't deal with John's death, Lynn uncovers a family secret, and Jayne makes some tough choices. Volume 2 of _Who the Hell Are You_.

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Here it is, everybody! Volume two in the _Who the Hell Are You_ series. Before we get started, I just want to thank everyone once again for all their awesome reviews and support! You all rock! Enjoy the first chapter!

"Lonely is the night, when you find yourself alone  
>Your demons come to light, and your mind is not your own<br>Lonely is the night, when there's no one left to call  
>You feel the time is right – the writing's on the wall.<br>It's a high time to fight, when the walls are closing in  
>Call it what you like – its time you got to win<br>Lonely, lonely, lonely – your spirits sinking down  
>You find you're not the only stranger in this town."<p>

_Lonely is the Night_, Billy Squier

* * *

><p>Chapter 1: Everybody Loves a Clown<p>

Lynn Juarez stumbled awkwardly down the dark, squeaking staircase, a deep frown on her face as she studied the journal in her hands. It was midmorning, and the sun was bright, but the inside of aging hunter Bobby Singer's home was dim and depressing – and to be perfectly honest, kind of dusty. Actually, his house looked like it belonged on an episode of TLC's _Hoarding: Buried Alive_, but Lynn wasn't complaining – much. He'd been nothing but nice to her and her stepsister since they'd showed up on his doorstep one week ago.

She frowned, pulling on her black ponytail as she reached the bottom step. Taking a deep breath, she looked up briefly from the journal she'd been studying to check for stacks of books that might be in her way, and then slowly picked her way from the front hall to Bobby's kitchen.

One week ago, Lynn had had no idea who Bobby Singer was. The only reason she knew the hunter now was because Sam and Dean Winchester had introduced her to him. And when it came to the Winchester brothers – she hadn't exactly known _them_ all her life either. In fact, when Lynn reflected on the past nine months, she had to admit that her connection to the Winchesters was a bit of a surprise. Nine months ago, she'd been traveling with her stepsister Jayne Gibson, searching for their runaway little brother and hoping to hunt down the demon that had killed Jayne's mother. Then Sam and Dean had entered their lives, and nothing had been the same since.

She was still mulling over these things as she ducked around the corner and into Bobby's tiny, blue, outdated kitchen. The radio was on, and she could just barely pick out the bluesy guitar music from the crackling static. Bobby Singer, a man in his late fifties at least, stood over the coffee pot on the counter. He had an old baseball cap pulled low over his graying hair, and his grease stained flannel shirt was stretched over his beer gut. The hunter looked up when she entered the room, raising his coffee cup to his bearded mouth, and gave her a nod.

"Morning, Bobby," she greeted him, plopping herself down at the small table. Sam was sitting there already, frowning at a cell phone in his hand. "Morning, Sam."

"Hey," he murmured distractedly, eyes focused on the phone. There was a mug of coffee next to him on the table, growing cold and stale where it sat.

Every morning, for the past week, it had always been the same. Lynn, Jayne and Sam would sit down in Bobby's kitchen and try to make sense of John Winchester's research. Dean, on the other hand, would disappear out into Bobby's junkyard and work on his totaled car.

One week ago, Lynn had been in Stamping Ground, Kentucky with her stepsister. They had reunited with their younger brother a few months earlier, and they'd met up with him again in Kentucky at Hannigan's Pub, the tavern where they had spent most of their childhood. Their father's old hunting buddy, Rufus Hannigan, had been missing, and the three of them had been helping his daughter Deedee track him down – except Deedee had been possessed by a demon, and was intent on killing them all. The supposedly missing Rufus had shown up in the nick of time and exorcised the bitch. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean, as well as their father, John, had been in Missouri, facing off with a very powerful, yellow-eyed demon that had killed both Sam and Dean's mother Mary, and Jayne and Steve's mother, Ana Gibson. The encounter had ended in a huge car crash, decimating Dean's Impala and nearly killing him as well. Dean and Sam's father had been fine at first, but things changed at the hospital.

John Winchester was dead now, and Lynn felt it was her duty to stick by his sons and help them deal. The two brothers had been good friends to Lynn and her stepsister, and they could not abandon them now. Not that she was anxious to bail. The brothers were still hunting that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, and Lynn wanted to kill that thing too.

"Where's Jayne?" Lynn asked, looking around the room.

"Outside," Bobby grunted from the counter.

"With Dean?" Lynn asked.

Bobby shrugged, and then plopped down at the table too. Lynn had to admit he'd been surprisingly helpful ever since they'd shown up at his door. She didn't know him well – or at all, really – but apparently he'd been a good friend of John's, and he had a soft spot for the boys.

Sam cursed, giving the phone in his hand a small shake. Lynn crinkled her nose, glancing at him, but he didn't look up. A couple days ago, Sam had given up on the research and started trying to crack his father's voicemail codes, hoping to find clues on the man's old cell phones. Lynn wished him luck – she couldn't imagine that John Winchester's voicemail codes would be easy to decipher. He seemed like the kind of guy who'd use random, meaningless numbers and letters.

She sighed harshly, laying the journal down on the table and tangling one of her hands in her ponytail. "Sam, no offense to your Dad, but… this journal was not written in English. Ancient cuneiform maybe, but definitely not English."

Sam nodded, a small smirk developing in the corner of his mouth. His eyes never left the cell phone. "Yeah, that was my Dad," he said. "As Dean likes to say, the guy writes like freaking Yoda."

She mustered up a small smile for him. "I hate to have to say this, but… we're not getting anywhere with your Dad's research. We're not getting anywhere with _my_ Dad's research either."

Sam nodded again. "Right, which is why I'm working on the phones."

Lynn studied him hard, but he didn't look up at her. His dark blue eyes were still fixed on the cell phone in his hand. His forehead was puckered and his lower lip was jutting out in his concentration. She could see the strain in his jaw and his shoulders as he tried to ignore her stare. Sam really had changed over the past few months. His dark brown hair, once so neatly kept, was now a little too long and much too shaggy, hanging messily around his eyes. His face was marred in scratches and bruises from the car accident that had nearly killed his older brother.

She bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes to the tabletop. A part of her wanted to argue with him, but she sensed this was one of those 'road to nowhere' type situations. She exchanged a look with Bobby instead, who was sitting beside her still nursing his coffee. He raised his eyebrows, looking as skeptical as she felt. Lynn shrugged, and pulled the journal closer to her, preparing herself to once again undertake a useless endeavor.

"Sam," Bobby spoke up. Lynn looked at him. "I'm not trying to say this whole cell phone thing is a bust, but – let's be realistic. Your daddy knew his way around a voicemail code. It's probably something completely random you'll never figure out – like 1-1-g-7-x-y-z-q-2-4-exclamation point."

Lynn looked over at Sam, hoping he'd see reason. Sam frowned harder at the cell phone. "Say that again?"

Bobby frowned, exchanging another skeptical, mildly confused look with Lynn. "1-1-g-7-x-y-z-q-2-4-exclamation point?"

Sam typed furiously on the cell phone's keypad, and then his whole face lit up. "Ha!" he crowed triumphantly. "Broke it!"

Bobby raised his eyebrows again. Lynn gawked wide-eyed across the table. "Seriously?" she asked.

He waved at her to be quiet and held the phone up to his ear. Lynn's incredulous expression only deepened. She glanced at Bobby again, who shrugged, got up from the table, and headed back towards the coffee.

Lynn took a deep breath and tried to focus on the journal once again. That lasted all of three seconds. Sam suddenly put the phone down and frowned at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Some woman named Ellen left my Dad a voicemail. It's… it's like four months old."

Lynn frowned back at him. "Your dad kept a message saved on his phone for four months?"

Sam nodded, looking as confused as she felt. "She says she can help him."

There was a long pause. Lynn stared at Sam, and he frowned back at her, his eyes occasionally darting back towards the phone. "Ok," Lynn said eventually, taking a deep breath. "You have the number?"

He nodded. Lynn got up from the table and headed into the next room, where she'd left her laptop in its purple carrying case. Moments later, she was reseated at Bobby's kitchen table, booting up the computer, and then running a search on the phone number from John's cell.

It was relatively easy to find – apparently this Ellen woman had no need to cover her tracks. "I've got a landline in Mullen, Nebraska, located off 97," she announced.

Sam stared at her, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly ajar. "We should go," he said hesitantly. "To Nebraska. See what this Ellen woman has to say."

Lynn eyed him a moment, and then slowly nodded. "Sure," she agreed, although the hesitation was evident in her voice as well. "We should… we should go."

That was apparently all it took to make up Sam's mind. He got to his feet, pocketing the cell phone. "I'll tell Dean," he announced, and then disappeared out Bobby's back door.

Lynn looked up at Bobby, who'd taken up leaning on his kitchen counter. Bobby shrugged at her, taking another sip of coffee. "Have fun in Nebraska," he said wryly.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and then got to her feet as well, shutting down her computer. "Thanks," she retorted. "I will."

* * *

><p>The sun was bright, and the temperature was already spiking. Jayne Gibson squinted against the light, her boots kicking up dust as she picked her way through Bobby Singer's junkyard. Set back from the aging hunter's rundown house was a small garage overlooking a sea of junked, rusted out, useless old cars that had come to meet their deaths in the Singer Salvage Yard. And parked directly in front of the small garage was the little that remained of Dean Winchester's beloved black 1967 Chevy Impala.<p>

The car had been totaled when a demon had possessed a truck driver and slammed into the Impala with an eighteen-wheeler. It would have been easier to junk the thing and sell it for scrap, but there was no way in hell Dean would give up on his baby. That car accident had also left Dean comatose for nearly two days. When he woke up, everyone had been shocked – and roughly twenty minutes later, Dean's father had suddenly died.

She knew damn well that was no coincidence.

Jayne found Dean laying on the creeper, underneath the car, the clicking sound of his wrench just barely audible over the music playing on the radio he had tuned to the local classic rock station. His head was turned away from her, and he didn't seem to notice her coming. She crept up behind him and knelt beside the car, peering underneath.

"Want some help?"

He jumped, startled, and dropped his wrench, banging his head on one of the lines hanging down from the car. "Damn it!" he shouted.

She tried not to snicker, but failed. Dean glared at her over his shoulder, and then positioned himself flat on the creeper. "No thanks, I'm good," he sneered.

"Hey, you've been under this heap for a good week now," Jayne retorted, holding up her hands. "Just thought you could use an extra pair of hands."

"Not yours."

"Watch it. I can do some things."

"Barely."

"Well, maybe you could show me a thing or two."

He frowned at her. Jayne stared right back. Dean swung the creeper out from under the car and sat up straight. "You want me to teach you how to fix a car?" he asked incredulously.

She couldn't blame him for being skeptic. To be honest, the idea of Dean condescending to show her how to build a carburetor was sort of repulsive. Still, she tried to keep her face arranged in a pleasant, blank expression. She was pretty sure she was at least half-failing, but she tried anyway.

"Sure, why not?"

He snorted. "The last time we were under a hood together, you threw a flashlight at me."

"Well, you were being a dick," she replied smoothly.

He stared at her a moment longer, his dark green eyes narrowed suspiciously, as though he was trying to figure out her ulterior motive. Jayne stared back, raising her eyebrow expectantly. Finally, he shook his head, chuckling slightly. "If I agree to teach you some stuff, will you at least promise not to throw things at me?"

She made a face, pretending to think about it. "I don't know. Are you going to be a dick again?"

Dean smirked. "I'll try not to be."

"Oh. Well, in that case? I won't aim for your head."

He chuckled again. "All right, deal. Get under the car."

She grinned at him, and then got down in the dust, sliding under the car. Dean joined her, wrench in hand and started pulling on one of the pipes. "This is the exhaust pipe," he told her.

Jayne glared at him sideways. "I know."

"Hey, are you getting snippy with me? Because I can always call this whole thing off, right here and right now."

She rolled her eyes theatrically and retorted with great sarcasm, "I'm sorry, _professor_."

He smirked again. Jayne couldn't help the small smile that crossed her face. She had to admit – when she considered how long she'd been traveling with Dean and his younger brother Sam, it sort of freaked her out. Of course, it was all supposed to be a means to an end – she and her stepsister were hunting the same thing Sam and Dean were hunting, and it had seemed like a good idea to join forces. Still, the connection between the four hunters went far deeper than just some demon. Even Jayne could admit that. The connection even went deeper than two missing family members (John Winchester, Steve Juarez) who turned up whenever the mood suited them; it went deeper than two dead fathers (John Winchester, Russ Juarez) who had kept one too many secrets. Jayne was still traveling with Dean and Sam because she actually felt something for them – friendship, she supposed, and an ever-increasing sense of family.

Actually, what she felt for Dean went even deeper still, but at the moment, Jayne didn't want to think about that.

A large pair of brown shoes appeared beside the car just then, and Sam's voice sounded out, "How's the car coming along?"

Dean, having finally disconnected the pipe, tossed it violently onto the ground. "Slow."

Jayne frowned at his sudden shift in moods. "Yeah? Do you need any help?" Sam asked.

"What, you under a hood? I'll pass."

"Need anything else then?"

With that, Dean climbed out from under the car. "Stop it, Sam."

Jayne slid out from under the car too, watching him clamber to his feet and saunter over to the workbench. His jeans were covered in dirt, his shirt was smeared with oil, and his close cropped, light brown hair was slightly mussed.

Sam was standing off to the side, watching Dean too. "Stop what?" he asked.

"Stop asking if I need anything. Stop asking if I'm ok. I'm ok. Really. I promise."

Jayne frowned at his back, slowly getting to her feet and brushing off her jeans. The moment Sam had appeared, Dean's entire demeanor had changed. She didn't buy the 'I'm ok' act for a minute, but she wasn't about to push him. When it came to John Winchester, Dean had always been a powder keg, and it wasn't time to go looking for a fight – not yet, at least.

Sam, however, seemed to disagree. "All right, Dean, it's just… we've been at Bobby's for over a week now, and you haven't brought up Dad once."

It was true, but it also wasn't surprising. Jayne wouldn't be surprised if Dean never brought up John again. It wouldn't be a healthy course of action, but healthy and Dean rarely went hand in hand.

"You know what, you're right," Dean said, plopping his wrench down on the bench and turning around. "Come here. I'm going to lay my head gently on your shoulder and maybe we can cry, hug – maybe even slow dance."

"Don't patronize me, Dean!" Sam snapped. "Dad is dead! The Colt is gone! And it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all this, and you're acting like nothing happened!"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say something, all right! Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long, buried underneath this damn car!"

"All right you two, knock it off," Jayne cut in, taking a step away from the wrecked car. "Nobody needs to hear this crap. It ain't helping anything."

"Not talking about it isn't helping either!" Sam snapped at her.

Jayne stared at Sam, shaking her head and sucking in her cheek. He wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean she wanted to hear the two brothers yelling at one another. She opened her mouth to reply, but Dean beat her to the punch. "Revenge, huh?" he asked his brother in a low voice.

"Yeah!"

"Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, when we do finally find it… oh, no. Wait. Like you said, the Colt's gone. But I'm sure you figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing. So you know the only thing I can do, is I can work on the car!"

Jayne swallowed at Dean's final outburst, watching him kneel back down in the dust beside her shins and make a move for the car again. She looked up at Sam, who was fishing a cell phone out of his jeans. There was nothing to say, and what Jayne really wanted to do was walk off across the junkyard so she wouldn't have to deal with any of this crap.

"Actually, that's what I came out here to tell you," Sam said quietly. Jayne raised an eyebrow at him and Dean looked up from the car. Sam held out the cell. "It's one of Dad's old phones. It took me a while, but I cracked the voicemail code. Listen to this."

Dean stared at the phone for a moment, like he thought it might bite him. Then he stood up and took it from his brother, hitting speakerphone so they could all hear the message.

"_John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me._"

There was a loud beep, signaling the end of the message. Jayne frowned. Dean didn't look impressed. He shrugged, handing the phone back to his brother.

"That message is four months old," Sam informed them.

Dean looked slightly more interested by that information. "Dad saved that chick's message for four months?"

"Yeah."

"Who's Ellen? Any mention of her in Dad's journal?"

"No. But Lynn ran a trace on the phone number and we got an address. It's a landline in Mullen, Nebraska."

She wouldn't call it a lead, Jayne mused quietly in her head, but it was better than the whole lot of nothing they had right now. She wanted to find this demon as badly as the boys did. The thing had killed her mother and messed with her brother, and right now she was pretty damn certain that the thing had nearly killed Dean and actually killed John. As far as she was concerned, that demon had lived long past its expiration date, and if this Ellen person could help them kill the damn thing, she was all on board for a road trip to Nebraska.

"We'll take my truck," she announced. Both boys swung their heads around to stare at her. "Be ready to leave in thirty, all right?"

Sam nodded. "Sounds good," he agreed.

Jayne nodded back and then walked away from both of them, headed back towards the house. She wasn't sure what Sam and Dean were still talking about back at the car, but she figured it was some sort of argument and she didn't want any part of it. She'd had enough arguing to last her a lifetime.

All she wanted to do was head out to Nebraska, get any answers Ellen might have, and then kill that damn demon.

* * *

><p>Sam grunted as he collided with hard metal side of Jayne's truck bed when the vehicle swerved into the gravel parking lot. The gravel lot was surrounded by scrub brush, and overlooked by a large, rundown shack of a tavern with the name Harvelle Roadhouse on a large, light-up sign. On one end of the parking lot was a phone booth, and up by the tavern itself was an ancient gas pump.<p>

Jayne parked the truck right up front and killed the engine. Sam rubbed his now bruised shoulder. The driver side door swung open. "Hey!" Dean barked from his side of the truck bed. "You do remember you got passengers back here, right?"

"Quit your bitching," Jayne retorted as she stepped down from the cab. "It was either Janis, or that ancient POS minivan Bobby had back at the yard."

"My problem isn't with Janis," Dean informed her, leaping down from the back. "My problem is with your driving."

"I'm a great driver."

"Tell that to my ass."

Sam rolled his eyes, hopping down from the truck bed. Jayne could have driven more cautiously, that was for certain, but it hadn't exactly been a terrifying ride. The real problem was that riding in the back of a pickup on the freeway was going to be uncomfortable no matter who was driving.

"Everyone shut up," he heard Lynn groan as she clambered down from the cab next. "Can we just head inside and talk to this Ellen lady?"

Sam smiled slightly. Dean jogged up to the door, but the place was locked up. As Dean peered in through the front window, Sam took a peek around the side of the building. "Hello?" he called. "Anyone here?"

"Hey," Dean said. "Did you bring the, uh…"

"Of course," Sam interrupted, rolling his eyes. He dug the lock picking kit out of his coat and tossed to Dean.

A few moments later, Dean had the door unlocked and all four of them were sneaking inside the apparently empty tavern. Sam quietly shut the door behind them. The place was as rundown inside as it was outside. The wooden walls and floors were unfinished, and the windows were dirty. A bug zapper hung on the wall by the door, and it was zapping flies even as they stood there. A few tables were scattered around the place, an ancient arcade game sat in the corner, and on the other side of the room, a man with a mullet was snoring soundly on top of the pool table.

"Wow," Lynn whispered, her eyes sweeping over the contents of the room. "Uh… this place… yeah, it's kind of a dump."

Sam smirked slightly. The four of them slowly made their way across the tavern. "Hey, buddy!" Sam called at the sleeping man on the pool table. The drunk didn't react. "I'm guessing that isn't Ellen," he concluded.

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

Sam looked around the tavern a little bit more. The bar was set up next to the entrance. On their right, a little ways back from the counter, was a swinging door that led into the back. He made his way over to the door, gently pushing his way into the next room.

It was a rundown little industrial kitchen, with aging copper pots hanging from the racks on the walls, and grease stains on the stovetop. Sam crinkled his nose, picking his way through the kitchen. Behind him, he heard the swinging door squeak and he turned to find Lynn sliding into the room too.

"No one home?" she asked quietly, her large, chocolaty brown eyes boring into his.

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't look like it."

Lynn nodded, glancing around the room. "Seriously, this place looks like one big health code violation."

Sam chuckled under his breath. She smiled at him, shrugging. "So, what do we think? Ellen's out, or Ellen doesn't live here anymore?"

He sighed, shaking his head again and leaning on the cracked countertop. "I don't know what to think."

There was a brief silence. Lynn stood awkwardly by the swinging door, and Sam folded his arms over his chest, still leaning on the counter. This hadn't been what he'd expected when they'd decided to come out here and find the mysterious Ellen. He'd thought there'd be a house, and that Ellen would answer the door right away, and that… oh, hell, Sam didn't know. He just wanted answers. He wanted the Colt back. He wanted to find the demon, he wanted to kill the demon…

He wanted his father to be alive again. Really, bottom line; that was what he wanted. Everything was so messed up now. Dad was gone, Dean was dealing poorly, the demon was still out there, and Sam had some crazy psychic powers that the demon wanted to use. Seeing the future on rare occasions, however, wasn't exactly world-domination material, but there were other people out there like Sam, people like Lynn's younger brother Steve, who could start a fire with a thought.

Lynn slowly moved away from the door, coming towards him. "I'm sure she's around somewhere," she murmured.

Sam nodded. Lynn leaned on the counter beside him. "Are you holding up all right, Sam?"

The question startled him. He'd been so busy, reviewing his father's research, cracking voicemail codes and accusing Dean of dodging, that he hadn't really given himself time to consider how he felt. Lynn was the first person to really ask. Not that it surprised him – Lynn was usually the first person to ask anything.

He didn't answer the question, though. At that moment, the cocking of a pistol echoed in the tiny kitchen. Sam jumped, pushing himself off the counter. Lynn too whirled around at the noise.

The woman standing at the back door was in her late forties, early fifties. She had long brown hair and large brown eyes, and she was steadily pointing a pistol at the both of them.

"All right, hands up," she ordered. "You make a wrong move, I won't hesitate to shoot."

Sam swallowed. He had no doubt she meant every word she said. He slowly raised his hands, and Lynn did the same. The woman at the back of the kitchen jerked her chin towards the tavern.

"Go on," she smirked. "March."

* * *

><p>Once Sam and Lynn had left the tavern, Dean gave up on figuring out the guy sleeping on the pool table. He glanced at Jayne, who was moving even further back in the bar, and then he shrugged, ambling away from the table and back towards the bar.<p>

A second glance towards Jayne proved she'd vanished. Dean rolled his eyes, and then looked back towards the swinging door that Sam had disappeared through. Before he could make a decision regarding which way to turn, he was stopped in his tracks by the feeling of a round, cold barrel pressing against his lower back.

"Oh, god," he quipped. "Please let that be a rifle."

The sound of said rifle being cocked echoed through the tiny tavern. "Nah," a woman's voice retorted. "I'm just real happy to see you. Don't move."

He raised his hands slightly, in surrender. "Not moving, copy that," he agreed. "You know, you should know something, Miss. When you put a rifle on somebody, you don't want to put it right against their back, because it makes it _real_ easy to do…"

Dean turned around suddenly, grabbing the rifle from her hands. The woman behind him looked startled at the sudden move. She was young, he noted, blonde and petite. Dean un-cocked the rifle.

"That," he finished.

His triumph was followed immediately by blinding pain when the blonde's tiny fist slammed into his nose. His eyes tearing up, Dean's hands flew to his face as he tried to blink his eyes open and clear his vision. In doing so, he dropped the gun. The blonde must have caught it, because he heard the rifle being cocked again. He nearly hollered for back up, but then he heard the cock of a second gun.

"Nice right hook," Jayne drawled from behind the other woman.

Dean blinked, still nursing his nose, and managed to make out Jayne standing behind the tiny blonde, her pistol pointed at the back of the girl's head. The rifle-wielding blonde froze, slowly raising an eyebrow. "Thanks," she said uncertainly.

"You're welcome. Now drop the gun, because I _really _don't want to spray my friend with your brain."

The blonde looked over her shoulder at Jayne, who had not repeated the other woman's first mistake. She stood just far back enough to prevent the other woman from grabbing at her gun. The blonde must have decided she'd been beat, because next a loud clatter echoed through the tavern as her rifle hit the floor.

Then Dean heard the squeak of the swinging door. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Sam walking into the tavern, his hands on his head. Behind him, Lynn walked with her hands up, looking annoyed about her situation. An older brunette woman followed them, a pistol pointed at their backs.

"Oh, that's just great," Dean said, his voice slightly nasal due the assault on his sinuses.

The brunette woman took one look at Jayne holding the younger girl at gunpoint, and her brown eyes immediately turned murderous. Dean glanced back at the two blondes behind him. Jayne's gray eyes swept the three newcomers, but her pistol never wavered from the blonde woman's head.

Lynn sighed harshly. "This is ridiculous," she announced, hands still in the air. "Is someone here named Ellen?"

The pissed-off looking brunette woman directed her gaze to Lynn. "Yeah, that's me. Who the hell wants to know?"

Lynn jerked her head towards Sam. "Sam Winchester." Then she jerked her head towards Dean. "Dean Winchester. You called their father a few months back?"

To Dean's great surprise, the woman's eyes lit up. "Sam and Dean?" she repeated. "Son of a bitch."

"Wait," the blonde girl said. "You know these guys?"

"Sure. I think they're John's boys."

Dean frowned at Ellen, and then glanced at Sam, who shrugged awkwardly, with his hands still on his head. Suddenly, Ellen laughed and lowered her gun.

"Well, I'm Ellen," she introduced herself again. "That's my daughter Jo."

Dean glanced at Jo. Behind her, Jayne glanced warily at Ellen, and then slowly lowered her pistol. Jo relaxed slightly, and then offered a confused, not-so-enthusiastic, "Hey."

"You're not going to hit me again, are you?" Dean retorted.

"I'm Lynn Juarez," Lynn spoke up, addressing Ellen. "That's my stepsister Jayne. Um… sorry we broke into your place?"

"Nah, don't worry about it," Ellen shrugged, heading for the bar. Dean gawked after her. "Juarez, huh? You wouldn't be Russ's girl by any chance?"

Lynn blinked, looking surprised and slightly suspicious. "You knew my Dad?"

"Sure. Not as well as I knew John, but he was known to swing by here every now and then. What are you all waiting for, anyway, an engraved invitation? Jackets off; sit your asses down."

Dean wasn't going to lie – he was confused as hell. This Ellen woman had gone from waving a gun at the four of them to suddenly friendly and hospitable. He watched Sam shrug out of his coat and take a seat at the table nearest the bar. Lynn was watching Ellen's back with as much skepticism as Dean felt, but she too removed her jacket and took a seat.

He exchanged a look with Jayne. Jo had walked away by now, heading towards the bar to join her mother. Jayne looked confused too, and when she met his eyes, all she offered him was a shrug. The two of them made their way over to the table and took seats too. Ellen left Jo leaning on the bar as she wet a dishcloth and wrapped it around a chunk of ice. Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised once again, when Ellen came back around the counter and handed him the ice for his nose. "Here you go."

"Thanks," he replied, raising the ice to his face. Ellen and her daughter leaned up against the counter and surveyed their guests. "You called our Dad and said you could help," he pressed. "Help with what?"

Ellen tilted her head to the side and gave him a strange look. "Well… with the demon, of course."

They had come to see Ellen specifically because Sam had hoped she could help them with the demon, but that didn't make Dean any less surprised to hear her mention the thing. He glanced at the other three hunters, and then frowned at Ellen.

"I heard he was closing in on it," she added.

It was official: Dean was confused, Dean was suspicious, and Dean was pissed. "What, is there an article in Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?" he snapped. "I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?"

"Hey, I just run a saloon," Ellen replied calmly, holing up her hands. "But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your Dad, a long time ago. John was like family once."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean retorted. "How come he's never mentioned you before?"

He almost regretted the question. Ellen cast her eyes down briefly, looking slightly hurt. "You'd have to ask him that."

If John was still around to ask, Dean would certainly be asking. He'd be demanding to know what the hell was up with this Roadhouse place, and this Ellen chick, and with everyone knowing everything about the Winchester family drama. But asking his father wasn't an option.

"Why exactly do we need your help?" he demanded.

"Hey, don't do me any favors," Ellen returned, apparently getting just as annoyed with him as he was with everything else. "Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if…"

The truth must have been obvious on Dean's face – Sam's face too, all of their faces, because Ellen trailed off and stared at them. "He didn't send you," she murmured.

Dean looked down. "He's all right, isn't he?" Ellen asked.

He couldn't answer that question. Dean stared down at the table top, clutching the ice back to his nose. He could feel eyes on him, and he didn't know if they were Sam's, or Jayne's, or even Ellen's, but he wanted them to stop staring.

"No," Sam replied. "No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It just… got him before he got it, I guess."

"I'm so sorry," Ellen murmured. Dean reacted quickly, but he didn't react well. He was so tired of hearing that line, and it didn't help that Ellen's eyes were directed straight at him.

"It's ok," he said. "We're all right."

"Really," she insisted. "I know how close you were with your father…"

"Really, lady," Dean snapped. "I'm fine."

Silence followed. Ellen looked taken aback, and he suspected the only thing stopping her from snapping at him was sympathy about his dead father – which further pissed him off, because Dean didn't want anyone's sympathy.

Jayne was staring at him across the table, and he nearly snapped at her too. But Sam spoke up just then, taking the heat off Dean and his dead father.

"So look," Sam said. "If you can help… we could use all the help we can get."

Which wasn't true. All right, it was true, but Sam didn't have to be telling people that. Dean glared at him over his shoulder.

"Well, _we_ can't," Ellen admitted. "But Ash will."

Sam frowned. "Who's Ash?"

"Hey, Ash!" Ellen hollered in the direction of the pool table.

There was a lot of clattering from the back of the bar, and Dean whirled around to stare. The man with the mullet who'd been sleeping on the pool table woke suddenly, kicking his legs and whipping his hair around. "What?" he called out, twisting on the table. "Closing time?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam looked skeptically back at Ellen and Jo. "That's Ash?"

"Mm-hmm," Jo nodded. "He's a genius."

* * *

><p>Jayne did not believe for one minute that Ash was really a genius.<p>

After waking up on the pool table, the guy had practically fallen to the ground, and then limped over to the counter, nursing his neck. He'd flat out refused to do anything until Ellen had poured him a cup of coffee laced with Jack.

His dirt-blonde mullet was mussed, and he'd ripped the sleeves off his flannel shirt. There was a small silver stud in his left ear. He flopped down on the barstool and threw back his coffee. Then he smirked up at the four of them, who had all migrated to the bar and were now staring at him. Ellen and Jo were behind the counter, and neither of them seemed the least bit perturbed at Ash's behavior.

"Whoa," Ash said. "There are girls in here."

Jo rolled her eyes, putting out glasses on the counter. "Mom and I are in here every day, Ash."

Ash scoffed, waving her off. "I'm talking, like… real girls."

Jo rolled her eyes again.

He smirked, and then he winked – at Jayne. Surely this was some alternate universe. She felt his eyes sweep over her, from her long blonde hair to her eyes to the crystal stud in her nose, and then over her chest, stopping only when they landed on the bar.

"Hey good-looking," he said. "I'm Ash."

Sam had the nerve to laugh. Jayne blinked and then looked at Lynn, who was perched on the stool beside her. "I don't know what to say to that," she told her sister.

Lynn smirked. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to tell him your name."

"Yeah… that's not going to happen."

"Sitting right here," Ash announced, his voice unnecessarily loud.

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean spoke up. Jayne looked over her shoulder, finding him standing between her and Sam with his arms folded over his chest. "This guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie."

Ash smirked at him. "I like you."

Now she really couldn't figure this guy out.

"Thanks," Dean retorted. Ash adjusted his flannel shirt.

"Just give him a chance," Jo spoke up from behind the counter. Jayne frowned at her, but the smaller blonde woman didn't look her way. She just filled the glasses on the counter with water.

Dean made a face, but then he shrugged and flopped down on the stool next to Sam. He waved a folder at Ash. "All right. This stuff is about a year's worth of our Dad's work." Then he smirked and slid the folder towards Ash. "So, uh… let's see what you're made of."

She wasn't going to lie; Dean looked and sounded like a smug, smirking bastard. Still, she had plenty of her own doubts about Ash the so-called genius. For one thing – he really did look like a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie.

Ash surprised her, however. He flipped open the folder, rifled through the pages, and mere seconds later announced, "Come on. This crap ain't real. Ain't nobody can track a demon like this."

Jayne raised her eyebrow. Dean and Sam exchanged a look. "Our Dad could," Sam replied.

Ash looked at them, and then eyed the folder in his hand. "These are nonparametric statistical overviews and cross spectrum correlations. _Day-um_!"

She was still staring at him, her eyebrow raised, as he turned the papers around in his hands, squinting at them in admiration. "They're signs," he explained. "Omens. If you can track them, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms… you ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun."

There was something seriously wrong with this guy, Jayne concluded. But Jo was right; Ash was a genius.

"Can you track it or not?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, with this I think so. But it's gonna take some time. Uh… give me… fifty-one hours."

Fifty-one hours? Jayne stared at him incredulously. So did her three companions. Ash didn't seem to notice. He simply gathered up John Winchester's research and hopped off his bar stool. Then he pointed at her and winked again. "I'll see _you_ later."

Jayne gawked at him some more. "Look… glad you're helping us and all, but… come on, man. You're seriously creepy."

The comment didn't seem to bother him at all. Ash smirked and headed for the back. Jayne shook her head, watching him leave. "Hey, Ash!" Dean called after him.

He turned around.

"By the way, I dig the haircut," Dean said.

Ash ran his hand through his hair. "All business up front, party in the back."

Then he turned back around and swaggered into the back of the bar.

Jayne shook her head, watching him vanish down the back hall. When she turned back to the bar, taking a drink of the water Jo had provided, she found the girl swaggering out from behind the bar, a rag hanging from her hand. Jo's dark brown eyes traveled over Dean as she walked away, and Jayne tightened her grasp on the water glass.

Jo was hot; there was no denying it. She had long bouncy blond hair and a rocking body, and her low riding jeans and tiny tank top made that obvious. Dean's eyes followed the bartender, and Jayne couldn't fault him for it. There was denying that whatever Jayne might have with Dean, an exclusive relationship was not it.

There was also no denying that it hurt when Dean got up from his stool and followed Jo to the other side of the bar.

Ok, maybe she'd claimed to be in love with the man. But a bedside confession to a comatose friend that was only made out of fear that he was dying – was that sort of confession _really_ reliable? Could she honestly say that looking back now she one hundred percent meant it? And did it really matter, since he didn't know, and – let's face it – wouldn't have said it back?

"Hey, Ellen? What is that?" Sam asked suddenly, snapping Jayne out of her thoughts.

Sam was leaning on the counter, pointing at something against the wall. Ellen looked up from where she was filling salt shakers, glancing at Sam, and then looking in the direction he was pointing. "Oh, that?" she asked. "It's a police scanner. We, uh… we keep tabs on things…"

"No, no, no," Sam interrupted. "The, um… the folder."

Ellen stared at him for a moment, but then shrugged and grabbed the folder, making her way toward the three hunters seated at her bar. "I was going to give this to a friend of mine," she said, sliding the folder onto the counter. "But… take a look."

Jayne raised her eyebrow, watching as Sam took the folder from Ellen and flipped it open. "Thanks," he said.

Ellen went back to filling salt shakers. Sam frowned over the papers within the folder. Lynn leaned into him, trying to read over his shoulder, but Jayne just slumped against the counter and took a sip of water.

Her eyes traveled over to the other side of the bar. Dean was sitting by the window, talking to Jo while she pretended to wipe down tables. Jayne narrowed her eyes at the pair of them, and then turned away, staring at the liquor shelf behind the counter.

"Killer clowns?" Lynn asked suddenly.

Jayne frowned at her. Sam nodded slowly. "Looks like. You guys up for it?"

"Up for what?" Jayne grunted.

"A case," Sam replied. "We've got fifty one hours to kill, remember?"

Lynn crinkled her nose, sliding the folder away from Sam to give the case a good look. "Well… fifty-one hours is a long time…"

She was right, Jayne concluded. Fifty-one hours was a long time, and it was going to feel even longer if she had to spend it here, at the Roadhouse, watching Dean chat up Jo.

"Sounds good," she said. "I say we take it. Let's head out."

"All right," Sam agreed. "I'll get Dean."

Jayne watched Sam get to his feet and cross the tavern, headed straight for Dean and Jo. Lynn leaned into her arm and smirked. "Somebody has a crush on you," she sang into Jayne's ear.

She turned to frown at her sister. "What?"

"Ash," Lynn returned. "He _likes_ you."

"Are we in middle school?" Jayne retorted. "Although – seriously? What was that all about? Wasn't he supposed to be hitting on you? You're the hot one. That's always been our dynamic. I like our dynamic. I want to go back to our dynamic."

"Jaynie, he has a mullet and he lost his shirt sleeves," Lynn pointed out. "I think you might be more his type."

She frowned at that. "What are you trying to say?"

Lynn just smirked again, and then headed for the door.

"Hey!" Jayne barked after her. "Don't you walk away from me!"

All she got in response was Lynn's laughter.

* * *

><p>Dean followed Jo to the other side of the roadhouse, his drink hanging from his fingertips. The young, tiny blonde was bent over a table, wiping it down with a rag, giving him an excellent view of her ass. He wouldn't deny that the bartender was hot. Plus, she was making the eyes at him, and Dean never had been one to ignore the eyes.<p>

He slid into a chair at the table she was cleaning. "How did your Mom get into this stuff anyway?" he asked her.

Jo stopped cleaning and smiled slightly. "My Dad," she replied. "He was a hunter."

Dean could hear a note of pride in her voice as she spoke about her Dad, and then her eyes got sad and she ducked her head. "He passed away," she explained.

He took a beat. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I was just a kid."

Dean nodded, trying to smile at her. "Sorry to hear about your Dad," she changed the subject.

"Yeah," he muttered, and then he changed the subject too. "So, uh… I guess I got fifty-one hours to waste. Maybe tonight we should…"

It was on the tip of his tongue to toss her one of his usual cheap pickup lines. She was hot, and he kind of thought she was into him. At the same time, the moment he tried to make his brain go there, it resisted. He could try to push it away, try to forget, but his father's death was still fresh in his mind, and it definitely didn't help that they'd just been talking about dead fathers.

"You know what, never mind," he said. The thoughts were all there now, and he knew he wouldn't be able to get in the mood. If he were being totally honest, a one-nighter with Jo Harvelle was not going to make him feel any better – and if he were being really, _really _honest, the last thing he needed was yet another hot blonde with dead daddy issues mucking everything up.

"What?" Jo asked.

"Nothing, just… wrong place, wrong time."

Jo tilted her head. "You know, I thought you were going to toss me some cheap pickup line."

He laughed.

"Most hunters come through that door, think they can get in my pants with some pizza, a six-pack, and side one of Zeppelin IV."

The comment hit so close to home that Dean's laugh came out strangled. "What a bunch of scumbags."

Jo studied him. "But not you."

If she only knew. "Guess not," he shrugged.

"Dean," Sam's voice sounded in his ear. "Check this out."

He looked up and found his brother standing over him with a folder in his hand. Jo smirked at him, and then headed back for the bar. "Yeah?" Dean asked.

"A few murders not far from here that Ellen caught wind of," Sam explained. "It looks to me like there might be a hunt."

"Yeah?" Dean said again. "So?"

"So, I told Ellen we'd check it out."

Dean frowned – first at Sam, then at the folder, and then at Jayne and Lynn, still seated at the bar. "You run that by them?"

"They're on board. Come on; we've got fifty-one hours to kill."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, ok. Whatever."

Sam nodded, and then headed for the door, calling a goodbye to Ellen. Dean stood up and grabbed his coat, nodding at Ellen and Jo as he followed Sam out. Lynn and Jayne grabbed their jackets too and jogged after them.

Jayne hopped into the driver's seat of her old, rusty gray pickup. Lynn slid into the cab as well, and Dean found himself crammed into the bed with Sam all over again. The engine turned over and Jayne wheeled out of the parking lot.

The past week had been slow, and had served to emphasize that Dean's life was a wreck. Dad was gone. His car was totaled. And he was severely dodging the issue that was him and Jayne Gibson.

After all, Jo Harvelle was far from the first blonde chick with daddy issues to catch his eye.

* * *

><p>It was dark out now, and pouring down rain. By the time they would finally reach Mishicot, Wisconsin, it would be morning again. Lynn sighed and eyed her sister, who was steering her truck down the highway, her eyes never wavering from the road.<p>

"It's raining," Lynn pointed out.

Jayne raised her eyebrow. "So?"

"So Sam and Dean are riding bitch in the back, Jaynie."

Her sister shrugged. "They got a tarp."

"Jayne!"

She rolled her eyes at Lynn's scolding and heaved a long suffering sigh before pulling over on the shoulder. "Fine."

Lynn shook her head in annoyance as the truck jerked to a stop. Jayne glared out the windshield, drumming her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. She didn't understand what Jayne's problem was. Ever since they'd left the roadhouse, she'd been quiet and moody.

She swung open the passenger side door and hopped down into the downpour. Sam and Dean were already scrambling down from the bed. "Thanks!" Sam called over the loud, pounding sound of the rain.

Lynn shrugged at him. Dean slid into the cab first, and then Sam clambered in behind him. There wasn't going to be enough room for all of them, which meant by the time they were all done shoving each other, rearranging the front of the truck, and complaining about everything, Dean ended up wedged between Jayne and Sam, and Lynn found herself sitting on Sam's lap.

Just freaking fantastic.

"You two are fucking up my upholstery," Jayne grumbled.

Dean snorted. "Your upholstery was fucked long before we came along."

She was uncomfortable, to say the least. Sam was sopping wet, and the water in his clothes was seeping into her jeans. Lynn shifted on his lap, trying to find a better, drier position. It wasn't until he made an odd grunt in the back of his throat that she realized what all that movement was probably doing to him. Flushing, she stopped moving around and glared determinedly out the passenger window.

Jayne was already back on the highway and driving too fast through the storm. "So… someone want to fill me in on this case?" Dean asked.

Lynn sighed in annoyance and dug the folder out from under the bench seat. "Two people were murdered after attending a carnival," she explained, switching on the overhead light in the cab. "Their daughter was the only survivor – and witness. She said a clown did it."

Dean snorted. "You have got to be kidding me. A killer clown?"

"Yep," Sam spoke up. "Ripped the parents to pieces."

"What was the name of the carnival?"

"The Cooper Carnival," Lynn replied, studying the folder.

Dean rolled his eyes. "So how do we know we're not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?"

"Well," Sam started. "The cops have no viable leads."

"And all the employees were tearing down the carnival," Lynn chimed in, reading her way through the papers in her hand. "So everyone had an alibi."

"Also the little girl said the clown vanished into thin air," Sam added. "Cops are saying trauma, of course…"

"I know what you're thinking, Sam," Dean interrupted, smirking. "Why did it have to be clowns?"

Lynn frowned, looking up from the folder and twisting around to see Sam's face. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Oh, come on," he retorted.

Dean laughed. "You didn't think I remembered, did you?"

Sam glowered at the dashboard.

"Come on," Dean pushed. "You still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television."

Lynn wrinkled her nose, glancing at Sam again for confirmation. He looked pissed. "At least I'm not afraid of flying!" he snapped.

"Planes crash!"

"Yeah, and apparently clowns kill!"

"Both of you knock it off," Jayne drawled, eyes fixed on the road. "Or I swear I'll put you back out in the rain."

Lynn swallowed, looking around the cab. Jayne looked annoyed, and Sam looked uncomfortable. Dean frowned at Jayne. "What's got you so grumpy, Goldilocks?"

"Well, I got your elbow in my ribs," Jayne retorted. "Not to mention you and your brother are leaking all over my truck. Give me something to smile about."

"Killer clown?"

"Are you really afraid of clowns?" Lynn asked suddenly, frowning over her shoulder at Sam.

He sighed, looking harassed. Lynn shifted on his lap, and he winced, making that odd noise again. She crinkled her nose in apology. "Can we just get back to the job?" Sam demanded irritably.

Dean looked annoyed again. "Did it ever happen before?"

"Yeah, uh… the Bunker Brothers circus," Sam replied, taking the folder from Lynn's hand and frowning at the papers inside. He sounded breathless, and Lynn bit her lip, suddenly stupidly embarrassed. She turned away and stared at the dashboard. Sam kept reading. "In 1981. Same MO, it happened three different times, three different locales…"

"It's weird though," Dean pointed out. "I mean, if it is a spirit, it's usually bound to a specific locale – you know, a house or a town."

Sam nodded. "So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?"

"Cursed object, maybe," Dean suggested. "Spirit attaches itself to something and the carnival carries it around with them."

"Great," Sam grumbled. "Paranormal scavenger hunt."

"Maybe it's not an object," Lynn spoke up. "Spirits sometimes attach themselves to people… is there anyone from both carnivals named in the investigation?"

Sam shook his head. "Not that it says here."

Dean grunted from the middle of the bench seat. "Whatever. Just remember, this case was your idea, Sam. By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job."

Lynn didn't like Dean's tone of voice. It sounded strangely confrontational – but then again, if she were being honest, Dean's tone had often been confrontational over the past week. Ever since John…

"So?" Sam asked, and already he sounded on the defensive. Lynn squeezed her eyes shut, steeling herself against the inevitable.

"It's just not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell bent for leather on the demon hunt."

Sam stared at Dean for a moment, and then shrugged. "I don't know. I just think… taking this job… it's what Dad would have wanted us to do."

Dean scoffed. "What Dad would have wanted?"

And there it was. Lynn flinched, staring determinedly at the floor of the truck.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "So?"

There was a long, painful silence. Lynn sat too still, tense and on edge, waiting for the inevitable explosion. It never came.

Dean shrugged, settling back against the seat. "Nothing."

The cab lapsed into silence again. Lynn shifted uncomfortably on Sam's lap again, and Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. She wanted to put her fist through the window, but closed her eyes and gave her head a little shake instead. Then she glanced across the cab at Jayne, who was staring straight out the windshield, her knuckles white on the wheel, the inside of her cheek sucked in between her jaws.

This was going to be a long hunt.

* * *

><p>The sun was up and shining brightly as Jayne wheeled her beat up old truck into the parking lot of the Mishicot, Wisconsin fairgrounds. Her tires kicked up dust as she rolled to a stop, and Sam sneezed from the bed of the pickup.<p>

As soon as it had stopped raining, he and Dean had quickly climbed out of the truck cab and taken their places once again in the back. The bed-liner had been damp, but the slight discomfort was worth the breathing space. It had been too cramped in the cab, with three tall people shoved together on a bench seat and the only short person perched on Sam's lap. The only short person was Lynn, of course, and having her squeezed into his lap was definitely not helping anything. All it did was make him seriously uncomfortable.

Not so long ago, he and Lynn had had an arrangement that could have solved all that discomfort, but she had ended that. He couldn't deny that the ending was for the best – he wasn't ready for anything serious, and he'd been using their hookups as distractions from all the things he didn't want to think about, as well as a band-aid for anything that went wrong. It wasn't healthy, and it definitely wasn't fair to Lynn, who by her own admission had been growing too attached to him for a simple friends-with-benefits arrangement. At any rate, what he had been doing with Lynn really wasn't his style. But with Lynn, things had been different. There was just something about her that made him do lots of things he'd never thought were his style.

Dean was next to him in the back of the truck. When Jayne finally parked, Sam's older brother got up on his knees and leaned his elbow on the roof of the truck cab, frowning at the carnival. Tents and trailers had been set up directly in front of them, and in the background Sam could see the fair rides. A couple of clowns stood nearby, talking to two men in suits.

"Check it out," Dean spoke up. "Five-O."

The cab doors swung open just then, and Jayne and Lynn hopped out of the truck. Lynn gently pushed her door shut and took a step forward, her eyes scanning their surroundings. Jayne slammed her door unceremoniously and glared up at Sam and his brother.

"Anyone got a plan?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

"I do," Dean returned, hopping down from the bed. "I'm going to go talk to those nice detectives over there and find out what's going on. You three, uh… watch out for the clowns."

Sam glared at his brother, who smirked back. "Hilarious," he retorted.

Dean cackled and then swaggered off towards the police detectives. Sam shook his head, glaring after him, and then hopped down from the truck. Lynn leaned on the hood, frowning at Dean's back. "Question," she said. "Why are we sending _Dean_ to talk to the cops? Seeing as he's _Dean_, and he doesn't have a good track record with _cops_?"

Sam chuckled slightly. Jayne shrugged, hooking her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans. "Don't know, don't care," she replied. "If you're so fired up concerned about it, you could just go over there with him."

Lynn shot a look at her sister through narrowed eyes. "So… what the hell is _your_ problem?" she asked.

Jayne shrugged again. "Nothing."

She was so obviously full of crap, but Sam didn't want to call her on it. He didn't want to fight just then, and he had a feeling pushing Jayne would lead to a fight. Apparently, Lynn had drawn the same conclusion, because she fell silent, leaning against the truck's front bumper. The three of the stood around for a few long minutes, sharing an awkward silence.

Sam leaned against the back of the truck, staring at the rides along the skyline. It was their first hunt since his father had died, and he had to admit, things were starting to feel even weirder than usual. He knew Dean was thinking it too – that the way their Dad had gone, so soon after Dean had woken up… he had to wonder if maybe the two were connected.

"So," Jayne spoke up suddenly, turning her hard gray eyes on Sam. He looked up, startled from his thoughts, and nearly flinched at the flinty quality of her gaze. "Clowns, huh? Really?"

He looked away, feeling acutely embarrassed. "Shut up."

Jayne smirked. Lynn crinkled her nose apologetically, even though he could see a hint of a smile playing around her lips. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Sam walked away, stepping over the yellow gate by the truck and leaning against it, his back turned on the two women.

"Aw, Sam, come on," Jayne called after him. "Don't be a bad sport!"

He ignored her. Another long silence followed. As he stood there, leaning on the gate, he heard soft footsteps approaching along the dusty ground. Looking up, he found a dwarfed carnival worker, wearing clown clothes but no makeup, coming his way. Instinctively, he shifted on the gate, frowning at the worker.

She stopped directly in front of him and glared. Sam frowned back, shifting around uncomfortably again. After a while, the clown moved on, and Sam relaxed – but only slightly.

Dean of course chose that moment to return. He jogged over from where he'd been talking to the cops and smirked at his younger brother. "Did you get her number?" he asked.

Sam glared at him and said nothing. Dean shrugged, and then waved at the other two hunters. Jayne and Lynn joined them a few seconds later, looking impatient to hear what Dean had to say.

"More murders?" Sam prompted him.

"Two more last night," Dean replied, leaning beside him on the bright yellow gate. "Apparently they were ripped to shreds. And they had a little boy with them."

Sam snorted. "Who fingered a clown."

Dean frowned, and then raised his eyebrow at him. Sam frowned back. "What?"

He could swear he heard Jayne snickering, but he tried to ignore it. Dean just looked at him weird again, and then carried on discussing the hunt. "Yes, a clown, who apparently vanished into thin air."

There was short pause. Sam shook his head. "You know, looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles," he said. "It could be anything."

"Well, it's bound to give off EMF," Dean pointed out. "So… we'll just have to scan everything."

Sam snorted again, and then chuckled bitterly. "Oh, good! That's nice and conspicuous."

Dean shrugged, his eyes wandering towards a tent full of carnival workers. "I guess we'll just have to blend in," he replied.

Sam frowned, following his gaze. Jayne looked over at the tent too, and Sam guessed her eyes must have landed on the same "Help wanted" sign that Sam and his brother had discovered tacked to a nearby pole. "Seriously?" she asked. "You want to work at the fucking carnival?"

Dean shrugged. "Got any better ideas, Goldilocks?"

She raised her eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything for a moment. Finally, she rolled her eyes and huffed. "No."

"Great," Dean said. "Then we're working at the carnival. Let's go find Mr. Cooper."

He marched off towards the tent in question. Sam sighed, and then glanced at the other two. Jayne rolled her eyes and followed Dean. Lynn shrugged at Sam, who shrugged back, and then the two of them headed for the large, red and white striped tent.

Inside they found an old man in a suit, wearing a pair of dark glasses and throwing knives at a large, wooden target. Sam was impressed to see each and every knife landing dead center in the middle of the bulls-eye.

"Excuse me," Dean spoke up. "We're looking for Mr. Cooper. Have you seen him around?"

The old man scoffed. "What is that, some kind of a joke?" He pulled off his glasses, and Sam was shocked to see his eyes were a milky white. Clearly, the old knife-thrower was blind.

"Oh," Dean tried to backtrack. "God… I'm… I'm sorry…"

"You think I wouldn't give my eyeteeth to see Mr. Cooper, or a sunset, or anything at all?"

Sam couldn't help smirking at his brother's predicament. Dean looked from him, to Jayne, to Lynn. "You want to give me a little help here?" he asked.

"Not really," Sam replied.

"Hey, Barry!"

Sam whirled around to see a _very_ short man standing at the entrance to the tent, decked out in carnival gear, complete with a sequined cape and a porn-star moustache. He frowned at the small group huddled in the tent. "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah," Barry the blind knife-thrower replied. "This guy hates blind people!"

Dean chuckled nervously. "No, I don't!"

"Hey, buddy, what's your problem?" the little person exclaimed, waving around a stick.

"No problem – just a little misunderstanding…"

"_Little?_ You son of a bitch!"

Sam laughed out loud. He couldn't help it.

"No, no, no, no!" Dean shouted. "I… could someone just tell me where Mr. Cooper is? Please?"

Sam snorted. Lynn stepped in. "Um… I'm really sorry about him," she spoke up. "He… he was just… uh… this was all a misunderstanding."

"That's what I said!" Dean added.

Lynn waved at him to be quiet. "Look, we just wanted to talk to Mr. Cooper real quick," she went on. "So if either of you gentlemen knows where he is...?"

"Mr. Cooper's in his trailer," the little man in the cape replied. "I can show you."

She smiled at him. "Thanks."

Dean gawked at her. Sam stifled another laugh. The man led Lynn out of the tent, and Jayne followed after her, smirking over her shoulder at Dean as they left. Dean turned to Sam, shaking his head.

"What the hell?" he demanded.

Sam shrugged, still grinning, and then he too left the tent. Dean followed, all the while grumbling under his breath.

As far as Sam was concerned, already this hunt was looking up.


	2. You Don't Own the Road

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to SPN Mum, ks90, Nelle07, darksnider666, AshlynPaige92, rivillie, fakeelectric, Spelllesswonder29, ThreeMoons3, ColtFan165, angeleyenc, 69camaro and BarronsBaubles for all the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: You Don't Own the Road<p>

The first thing Jayne noticed about Mr. Cooper was that he did not look happy to see the four possible new hires waiting for him outside his trailer. When he walked up to their small group, she could see his eyes roving over the four of them critically, as though he was trying to decide what they were all about.

Still, he was polite when he introduced himself – gruff, but polite. He shook their hands and took their names and asked about any previous experience they might have had on the circuit. Sam lied immediately, claiming they'd all spent the past couple of years working carnivals. Then Mr. Cooper had invited them into his office.

"You all picked a hell of a time to join up," he said, stepping into the small, dark trailer with the four hunters on his heels. "We've got all kinds of local trouble."

The aging carnival owner took a seat behind his desk and then gestured at a collection of chairs on the other side. There was one normal wooden chair, and then one that had been carved and painted to look like a clown. Dean rushed for the wooden chair and plopped himself down, smirking triumphantly at Sam.

Jayne rolled her eyes. Lynn did too, actually, and then she brushed past the suddenly very uncomfortable Sam and took a seat in the clown chair. "What sort of trouble?" she asked Mr. Cooper pleasantly, crossing one leg over the other.

Sam breathed a noticeable sigh of relief, and then took up leaning space by the door, next to Jayne. She glanced at Dean, who looked a little put out about Sam escaping the clown chair, and rolled her eyes again.

"Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first. So you've all worked the circuit before?"

"Yes sir," Sam swooped in quickly. "Last year, through Texas and Arkansas."

"Doing what?"

Jayne bit her lip at the question, and watched the other three all hesitate with her. It was brief, but it cost them anyway. "Ride jockeys?" Mr. Cooper suggested. "Butchers? A&S men?"

Yeah… she had no idea what any of that was.

"A little bit of everything, I guess," Sam replied.

Mr. Cooper gave them a long scrutinizing look. "You four have never worked a show before in your lives, have you?"

Oops. Jayne lowered her eyes to the floor.

"Nope," Dean replied with a small, sheepish smirk. "But we really need the work. Also, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady."

He couldn't keep a straight face, chuckling slightly and shrugging. Sam gave him an incredulous, un-amused look, and Lynn smacked him in the arm. Dean immediately sobered.

Damn, he was _such_ an idiot.

Mr. Cooper was giving Dean a dark look. "You see that picture?"

Jayne followed the older man's finger with her eyes, squinting in the dim light of the dreary, stuffy trailer. Hanging on the wall behind the carnival owner's desk was an old black and white photograph of a Ferris wheel, with an older man standing in front of it. The man wore a black hat and a small smile. Jayne couldn't help but notice that the man looked an awful lot like Mr. Cooper.

"That's my Daddy," Mr. Cooper informed them gruffly.

"You look just like him," Sam observed.

"He was in the business," Mr. Cooper went on. "Ran a freak show – until they outlawed them in most places. Apparently, displaying the deformed isn't dignified! So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress! I guess."

Jayne frowned hard at the man behind the desk. His eyes were sweeping over them all, scrutinizing them, making judgment calls. Dean, Sam, and Lynn were trying to look sympathetic about his freak show sob story, but Jayne got the distinct impression that sympathy wasn't the point.

"You see, this place is a refuge for outcasts – always has been. The folks who don't fit in nowhere else."

He leaned forward, elbows on his desktop, and narrowed his eyes. "But you? You should go to school. Make friends, settle down, have 2.5 kids. Live regular!"

The overwhelming desire to put her fist through the trailer wall came over Jayne as the man finished his spiel. She had never lived regular in her life. The very idea of Sam going back to school and getting his law degree while having regular nightmares about people dying somewhere in the country… or Dean, with all his issues and his restlessness and this latest John-related wound, trying to settle down… Lynn, pretending she didn't know what was out there, forgetting the stories about her mother and the hoodoo… Steve, quitting the hunt, going to college, trying to ignore the fact that one slip up and he could be setting folks on fire with his mind… where the hell was the potential for normal in all that?

Where the hell was she in all that? Suddenly, all Jayne could think about was what it would be like to settle down – a house instead of a cheap motel, Janis sitting out in the garage, a regular job that didn't involve a shotgun, no more open road stretched out before her bumper at the start of every day… god, the very idea was suffocating. Suddenly, she began to feel very claustrophobic.

Sam took a step forward, off the wall. "Sir," he said seriously, shaking his head. "We don't want to go to school. We don't want regular. We want this."

Jayne wasn't sold – she'd head Sam sing the opposite tune one too many times since she'd started hunting with him – but something in his voice must have convinced Mr. Cooper. She'd heard something in his voice too, but it wasn't convincing; it was concerning. It didn't sound like the Sam she'd come to know and kind of like. Lynn met her eyes behind Sam's back, and Jayne saw the same concern reflected back at her.

Cooper gave them all jobs as 'backyard boys.' Clean up crew, she gathered, from the job description. He'd given them directions to the equipment trailer, and then sent them on their way.

When they stepped out into the bright July sun, Jayne breathed a sigh of relief. It had been much too stuffy in that trailer, and she finally felt like she could breathe.

"Huh," Dean said as the four of them made their way through the dusty lot.

"What?" Sam asked.

"That whole, uh… 'I don't want to go back to school' thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you… you know… saying it?"

There was a brief uncomfortable pause. "Sam?" Dean prompted.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

Jayne knew – at least she thought she knew. Maybe Sam was second-guessing himself now, but in the long run – he wanted regular. He'd said that so many times since they'd started this – to Dean, to Lynn, to random strangers they met on jobs – it was hard to conceive him truly changing his mind.

"You don't know?" Dean pressed. "Because, you know… I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings, you were going to take off and head back to Wussy State."

"I'm having second thoughts."

Both boys stopped in the road, turning towards one another, each standing a little too rigid, a little too tense. Jayne halted behind them, feeling the impending argument lingering on the air. Lynn came to a stop beside her, exchanging a concerned look with her sister. Jayne shrugged, and Lynn's eyes flicked between Dean and Sam, as though waiting for fists to start flying.

"Really?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "I think. Dad would have wanted me to stick with job."

"Since when do you give a damn what Dad would have wanted?" Dean demanded. "You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam!"

"Since he died," Sam retorted, like it should have been obvious.

It wasn't a good enough reason – that Jayne knew. Dean seemed to know it too, judging by the look in his eye and the strain in his neck. But the strain was catching it seemed, because now Sam looked pissed.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Sam asked.

Dean glowered – but only for a moment. "No," he said. "No, I don't have a problem at all."

He turned his back on all of them and kept marching towards the equipment tent. Sam stood in the dust, looking confused and angry, with his eyes trained on Dean's back. Then he too headed off for the tent in question.

Lynn shook her head. "I have a feeling this is going to be a long hunt," she murmured.

Jayne nodded her agreement. "Mm-hmm."

Her stepsister followed the boys to the tent and so did Jayne, but she kept a lengthy distance between herself and the other three. It looked like the explosion was inevitable. The two brothers could not keep playing almost-argue, building up that tension, and then not blow their tops. She couldn't stand thinking about the fight that was slowly but surely coming.

Sam couldn't really want this life forever, though. Jayne knew – had known – that Dean wasn't handling John's death well. She knew he was sinking under it, refusing to acknowledge that he was drowning. To be honest? She was afraid she had no idea how to pull him back up.

For the first time, she recognized that Sam wasn't dealing too well either.

It had been nearly seven years since her stepfather had died. Jayne could still remember the weeks that followed Russ's death as though they had happened yesterday. She could remember it so well that it completely freaked her out. It freaked her out because it was all so familiar, that it might as well have been happening again, right now.

That was the first time Steve had run away. Sure, he'd come back a few days later, no worse for wear. It had been nothing like the six month long disappearance he'd pulled on them earlier that year. Still, when she thought about it, it marked the beginning of a pattern that her little brother had been following religiously for the past seven years – when things turned to shit, he got the hell out of Dodge.

Jayne, on the other hand, had pretended everything was fine and that she wasn't torn up inside. And she hadn't been torn up, not really (even now she had trouble admitting, even just to herself, that Russ's death had struck a terrible blow) – she had just been sad and confused and not really sure how to take over their tiny family. Yes, she'd had to take over – someone had had to take over, and it couldn't really be anyone but her.

It had taken a long time for her to really grieve the man the way she should have grieved him from the start.

But her stepsister's reaction was the most startling of them all, Jayne realized now. She could see it reflected back through Sam Winchester.

Lynn had given up on college and dedicated her life to the hunt. She'd stopped trying to live regular, and she'd instead chosen to live the life that Russ would have wanted.

There was a sick feeling in Jayne's gut just then, and it was only half about the Winchesters.

* * *

><p>The worst thing about working for the Cooper Carnival, Lynn decided, was the hideous orange jacket she was being forced to wear. It was even worse than the fact that she was currently sweeping up other people's garbage. Lynn didn't think she was finicky – she put up with icky things all the time – but this hideous windbreaker, that she was sure had been worn by countless other people before her, was a little too much.<p>

So was the pile of trash in front of her – a half eaten ice cream cone surrounded by peanut shells and covered in little black ants. Lynn grimaced, poking at the mess with the long, claw-like device she was supposed to use to pick up trash. "Ewwww," she moaned. "So gross."

"You know, I've seen you dig up dead bodies and bitch about it less."

Lynn whirled at the sound of her sister's voice and found Jayne standing behind her, wearing an ugly orange jacket of her own and smirking like the pain in the ass she was. Lynn made a face at her. "Shut up. I can't help it – it's disgusting. There are ants everywhere – tiny little black ants!"

Jayne rolled her eyes and brandished her own claw, scooping up the mess like there wasn't an entire anthill living on it and dumping it into the trash bag she was carrying. Then she just stood there, raising her eyebrow at her sister. Lynn made another face. "Shut up," she said again. "Ugh! I feel like they're crawling on me."

"Neat trick, seeing as you never got close enough for the ants to jump on board."

"You're right. It's probably just lice from whoever wore this jacket last."

"I'm sure they wash these things between employees."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not." Lynn shuddered, and changed the subject. "Just please tell me you found the cursed object so we can get the hell out of here."

Jayne shook her head. "Nope. Sorry."

"Great. Just freaking awesome." Lynn sighed and shook her head, marching for a nearby dumpster. Jayne followed her slowly. Lynn dumped her bag in the dumpster and nearly pitched the claw and the windbreaker with it. "I'm so done with this shit."

Jayne shrugged. "Maybe it's not an object, you know? Maybe we should be looking into the history of the carnival, checking it for any suspiciously dead clowns…"

"Maybe," Lynn agreed. She shook her head again. "This sucks. We should have just hung out at the roadhouse. Waited for Ash to figure out John's research."

Another smirk played on Jayne's mouth. "It's just a windbreaker, Lynn."

"It's orange!"

Her sister rolled her eyes again. "You haven't seen or heard anything suspicious, have you? Found anything that gives off EMF?"

"No," Lynn returned irritably. "Have you talked to Sam or Dean?"

Jayne shook her head. "Not yet."

"How much you want to bet they also found nothing at all?"

"Wouldn't surprise me."

Lynn tossed her hair and glanced around them. They were standing at the end of the long, dusty alley that housed carnival game after carnival game. The aisle was crowded with people, clutching cotton candies and bags of popcorn and giant stuffed toys. It was getting to be late afternoon, and the sun was beating down on them. With the early July heat, it was getting a little too warm to be wearing the windbreaker, as flimsy as it was. Lynn wiped her forehead on the jacket sleeve and tightened her ponytail.

"Mommy!" a little girl called from Lynn's left. "Look at the clown!"

She frowned over at the small, dark-skinned girl with big curly hair. The little girl was clutching a balloon and a big pink monkey, pointing in between two carnival games. Her mother knelt down beside her.

"What clown?" the woman asked.

Lynn was instantly on alert. She exchanged a look with Jayne, who nodded, clearly thinking the same thing she was. Lynn darted towards the mother and the little girl. There was no one standing in the spot where the little girl was pointing – no one at all.

The woman led her daughter off down the aisle of games, and Lynn caught her lower lip between her teeth, glancing over her shoulder at Jayne. Her sister was still frowning at the spot where the clown was supposed to have been. "You see a clown?" she asked.

Lynn shook her head. "Nope."

"Great," Jayne drawled. "You go find Sam and Dean. I'm going to follow those people to the parking lot and get their plates."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Later," Jayne tossed over her shoulder. Lynn watched her maneuver her way through the crowd, maintaining a safe distance behind the little girl and her parents. Only seconds later, both Jayne and the family had disappeared down the dirt path. Lynn heaved a sigh and fussed with her long black ponytail again, backing away.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Lynn frowned and fished it out, glancing at the display. Sam was calling.

"Hey," she answered the phone. "I think Jayne and I found the next victims. She's getting an ID on them right now."

"That's great," Sam replied. "Dean and I are outside the funhouse. Bad news – no cursed object."

"Same. This fucking sucks."

He chuckled. "I've also got good news – there's a real human skeleton in the funhouse."

"How is that good news?"

"Well, I'm thinking maybe there is no cursed object. Maybe the spirit is connected to its own remains. In that case, we'd just have to torch the bones…"

"Did the bones give off EMF?"

"Uh… not exactly."

Lynn sighed. "Right. Well, it wouldn't hurt to be sure. I say you and Dean grab the skeleton and torch it, and then we'll head out to the next victim's house to make sure they're safe."

"All right. See you later."

"Bye."

Lynn hung up her phone and thrust it back into her jeans. Then she ditched her jacket and her trash claw in the dumpster and jogged after Jayne. She had almost made it to the parking lot when she ran into her sister, on her way back into the carnival grounds.

"Hey," she greeted Jayne breathlessly. "I talked to Sam."

Jayne raised her eyebrow. "Ditched the jacket, huh?"

Lynn rolled her eyes. "For the last time, it was _orange_, and it was _gross._ Back to the case. Sam found a real skeleton in the funhouse, and he thinks the ghost-clown might be attached to its own remains, rather than a cursed object."

Jayne frowned. "Did the skeleton give off EMF?"

"No."

"Well, then, color me less than convinced."

"I told him to torch the bones anyway, just to be sure," Lynn pressed on, ignoring Jayne's commentary. "Did you get the plates?"

"Yeah."

"Give me the numbers. I'll call into the local PD and get their address."

Jayne complied with Lynn's plan, handing over the scrap paper on which she'd jotted down the license plate number. Lynn snatched it away, taking a deep breath and starting towards the truck.

"Where are you going?" Jayne asked.

"The truck. I need a badge number... and a phone number…"

Jayne nodded. "Right."

There was a long, awkward silence. Lynn frowned at her sister, not sure what was going on. "Hey," she said softly. "What's up? You ok?"

Jayne stiffened. "I'm fine."

Lynn scoffed. "Oh, ok. Sure. Seriously, what's up? You know I'll just keep bothering you until you spill, anyway, and we really don't have the time for that crap."

Her sister fidgeted, looking annoyed. Then she scrunched up her face and gave Lynn a hard-eyed, searching look. "Do you notice… aren't Sam and Dean… I don't know, haven't they been acting kind of off?"

Lynn stared at her sister for a moment, not sure how to read that question. She shrugged. "Well… their dad just died."

"Yeah," Jayne agreed quickly. "Right. I know. I just… I don't think they're… I don't think either one of them is really… dealing with it."

"Tell me about it," Lynn muttered. "Sam and his whole 'I don't want normal' spiel back in Cooper's office? Talking about what John would have wanted for him? It's just _so_ not him. I don't like it."

And she didn't like it. Sure, she'd never really bought into that whole 'search for normal' bullshit he'd used to hand her, back before John had died. It was crap. There was no normal, not really, and even people who stumbled on something close to it never ended up happy anyway. The point was that she was just fine where she was, on the road and hunting things. At least, she was just fine most of the time.

But having Sam start thinking along the same lines? She didn't like it; it wasn't him. Sam didn't care what his dad wanted – Sam cared about what _Sam_ wanted. He didn't share Dean's sense of obligation. His sudden 180 could only spell bad things.

Just then, Lynn noticed the look her sister was giving her. It was hard and studying and it made her uncomfortable.

"What?" she demanded.

"You're right," Jayne said quickly, and dropped her eyes. "Sam's acting weird, too. But Dean's just… he's so…"

Her sister trailed off and ran a hand through her long, pale blonde hair. Lynn studied her, seeing the distress on her sister's face as she tried to put her feelings into words. "He's acting off," Lynn supplied.

"Sure."

"And you're worried about him?"

"Of course. Aren't you?"

Lynn was worried about Dean, but she suspected Jayne felt a little differently than Lynn about all things Dean related… not that this was a good time to say anything about it. "I am," she replied carefully.

Jayne looked her in the eye just then, and Lynn blinked in surprise. She could see uncertainty in the other woman's eyes. Her sister was actually letting her guard down. "I don't know what to do," Jayne admitted in a small voice. "This… it isn't my area, you know?"

"What's not your area? Comforting people?"

Jayne nodded.

Lynn laughed. "Are you kidding me?"

She earned a glare from her sister. "What the hell are you laughing at?"

"It's Dean," Lynn retorted. "You know Dean, Jayne. You know him better than I do, at least. I don't understand why you think I can help."

"I didn't ask for your help."

She'd made a mistake, Lynn could tell. Jayne was closing back up. She hated it when her sister did this – open up for all of two seconds and then rebuild the wall. It was ridiculous – they were _family_. They had literally known one another their whole lives. Why couldn't Jayne just get real?

Lynn took a deep breath. "I just meant… you don't have to worry, ok? You'll figure it out."

There was a long silence. Jayne stared at her.

"I'm going to run the plates," Lynn said.

"Ok," Jayne replied.

Lynn turned away and headed for the truck again. She didn't know what to do either, if she was being honest. Worst of all, she knew she had to do something. She _always_ did something – it was her thing. She needed to do something.

She had no idea what that something was.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you told the Amazing Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown."<p>

Sam meant it – he really couldn't believe his brother. He sat in the back of Jayne's pickup, rattling around as the aging truck navigated the bumpy, beat up country roads, gawking at Dean in annoyance.

"No, I told the Amazing Papazian an _urban legend _about a homicidal phantom clown," Dean corrected him with a smirk. "I never said it was real."

The wind was whipping around them, blowing Sam's hair into his face. Dean was messing with his shotgun, and every time they hit a pothole, Sam got nervous. "Could you put that thing down?" he snapped.

Dean rolled his eyes, but complied. It had been a hell of a day; that was for certain. First, Sam had found a human skeleton in the funhouse. Then, Jayne and Lynn had tracked down the killer clown's latest victim. And Dean had told the blind knife-thrower all about their killer clown troubles, explaining that the four hunters were 'writing a book' about ghosts.

They hadn't even had time to torch the bones of the funhouse skeleton like Lynn had suggested. Lynn had called him up mere minutes later, explaining that the family in question lived so far away from the carnival, they had to leave _now_. Sam was irritated about the whole thing.

By now, they had reached neighborhood where the clown's next victims lived. The sun had set an hour ago, but the night air was still warm. Jayne's truck rolled to a stop one driveway down the street from the tiny family's house. The moment after Jayne had killed the engine, Lynn slid back the rear window of the cab and frowned out at the both of them.

"Everyone ok back here?" she asked.

"Awesome," Dean drawled. "No thanks to Goldilocks' driving."

"Roads are bad," Jayne retorted, sounding bored. "Deal."

Sam frowned, wondering exactly what was going on between Jayne and his brother. They'd been acting fairly weird around each other since the Roadhouse, and for the life of him, Sam could not figure out why.

He glanced at the house, watching the small family from the carnival. He hadn't seen them before, but the giant pink monkey from the dart toss was a dead giveaway. They were in their living room, standing before their large picture window, dropping all their things onto the sofa.

"So," Lynn murmured through the open window. "Dean. How come you told the Amazing Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown?"

"Thank you," Sam exclaimed.

Dean snorted. "Hey, he was asking questions! I had to tell him something. Besides, he gave me some intel."

"Intel?" Jayne repeated incredulously.

"Yeah. I mentioned the Bunker Brothers circus back in '81 and their evil clown apocalypse? Turns out, before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager."

Sam frowned at his brother. "So you think whatever the spirit is attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?"

Dean shrugged. "Something like that." He breathed an irritated sigh. "I can't believe we keep talking about clowns."

To be fair, Sam couldn't believe that either. He was really starting to regret taking this case. Everything would have been fine if it hadn't been for Dean, stirring up that whole clown thing again. Sam had been a _kid_ when he'd had those nightmares about psycho clowns – and the only reason he'd ever had one in the first place was because Dean, in all his brilliant babysitter glory, had made him watch _It_ when he was only seven years old.

He couldn't lie though – the clowns still made him uncomfortable.

It wasn't just the clowns. Everyone was acting off. Dean was being his usual self, avoiding the real issue – Dad's death – and both trying to start and avoid an argument. Sam didn't know what to do with him. Jayne was being equally weird, and had been since the Roadhouse. She was never a huge talker, but ever since Nebraska she'd grown more quiet and moody than usual. And Lynn…. well, Lynn was actually the only one being normal, Sam concluded. The only thing he wished she'd stop was this wide-eyed, panicky, walking-on-eggshells stuff she was doing every time he and Dean had a _real _conversation. Walking on eggshells was so not Lynn's thing.

All of them lapsed into quiet again, sitting outside the tiny home, waiting for the family to go to bed and for the homicidal phantom clown to arrive. The minutes lapsed into hours, and the moon began to change positions in the sky. Dean's head tilted back against the cab of the truck, and soon he'd fallen asleep. Jayne must have dozed off too, because Sam was soon startled out of silence by Lynn's small, hushed voice. "Sam? You still awake back there?"

"Yeah," he murmured back. "What's up?"

"Nothing, just… I don't know. Bored."

"Yeah, me too."

Silence.

"You all right?" Lynn asked.

He couldn't see her in the dark, and he wasn't really trying. She was still sitting in the cab of the truck, talking out the open back window, and he had his back against the cab, his eyes focused on the house they were supposed to be watching.

"Sure," he replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She sighed tiredly. "You know, you really give Dean a lot of crap about not communicating his feelings or whatever, but you're not exactly Mr. Open Book yourself."

He sighed back, the sound harsh even to his own ears. "This isn't really the time or place, Lynn."

"Yeah, ok, but… look, if you're having a hard time with this… you know I'm always here for you, right?"

The thing was, Sam did know she was always there for him. Lynn made it a point to let everyone know she was always there for them. It didn't make it easier for him to open up though. There used to be a time when he did tell her things that he didn't even tell Dean – when they'd share things and compare notes on what it felt like to be the odd man out in the family, or the ticking time bomb… they were almost friends. Then there had been the benefits. And then…

Well, the benefits were over now, and if Sam were being perfectly honest, he was having a hard time pretending like everything was still the same.

"I know," he said, and then he fell silent. Lynn was silent too, and then he heard her shift slightly in her seat. She didn't say anything else, but he could feel that she wanted to – that she was seriously irritated with his silence.

For a long time, they were quiet. He could hear the wind blowing through the trees, and the occasional insect, but Lynn didn't speak, and he didn't speak, and nothing happened in the house they were still staring at.

Then, faintly, Sam could swear he heard bells.

Frowning, he shifted in the bed of the pickup and frowned at the house. Suddenly, the light in the living room flickered on.

Sam hit Dean on the shoulder, jostling him from his nap. Lynn gasped from inside the truck, and then he heard her wake up Jayne too.

"What?" Dean grumbled.

Sam gestured at the house. Now he could see the tiny girl walking across the living room, passing in front of the large picture window. He didn't have to say anything – everyone knew what was up. The doors on the truck cab swung open. Dean and Sam leapt down from the back.

The plan was simple, and they had it outlined before they'd even gotten inside. Dean had pulled out his pocket knife and jimmied open one of the back windows. They'd climbed in and then split up, wandering through the long, white hallways of the house.

Sam ducked down by the stairs, and Lynn joined him seconds later. Dean had ducked behind the corner that separated the front hall from the kitchen. Jayne was just inside the main room, concealed behind some furniture. They waited in the dark, listening for the approach of the little girl and the clown. Soon enough, Sam picked up the sound of footsteps padding softly on the thick beige carpet.

"Want to see Mommy and Daddy?" the little girl whispered. "They're upstairs."

He saw the little girl's head of thick, curly brown hair poke around the corner. Sam leapt forward, snatching the little girl away from the clown and then thrusting her towards Lynn.

The little girl screamed and screamed, fighting to get away from Lynn's arms. Sam finally got a good look at the clown – tall, with its face painted white and red, wearing a faded tan clown-suit with large red dots. It had a curly red wig, and a jingle-bell hat that matched its suit.

"Hey!" Dean barked, and Sam looked in the direction of his brother's voice at the same time the clown did. Dean appeared around the dark corner and fired off a round of rock salt. The shotgun blast echoed through the house, and the salt caught the clown in the chest, knocking it flat on its back.

And that was not supposed to happen, because the clown was supposed to be a ghost, and the rock salt was supposed to make it disappear.

Slowly, the clown sat up. "Sam, watch out!" Dean warned him, taking a step closer. Sam backed away, shielding the little girl that Lynn was struggling to pull away from the front hall. Jayne ducked around the corner from the main room and fired off her own round of rock salt, sending the clown to its knees. Dean, closer to the creature than anyone else, cocked his shotgun and marched forward, but the clown got up and ran, throwing itself through the glass in the front door. The sound of shattering glass filled the hallway, and then the clown vanished into thin air. A loud _crash!_ sounded from outside, and Sam watched a potted plant fall to the ground all by itself, shattering on impact.

Before either of the hunters had time to react, a nearly hysterical woman began shouting from behind them. Sam looked up to see the parents of the little girl march into the front hall.

"What's going on here?" the man demanded, and when Sam saw the angry look on his dark face and the size of his muscles through his wife beater, he instantly got to his feet and tried to make a quick exit.

"What are you doing to my daughter?" the woman exclaimed. She had dark skin and curly hair, and she looked just like the little girl.

Lynn instantly released the little girl and stumbled to her feet, backing towards the door as well. The little girl's parents kept shouting at the four hunters as they tried to escape.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Get out! Get out of my house!"

Dean was already ducking out the door, and Jayne was close on his heels. Sam gave Lynn a shove towards the exit and then raced after her. All four of them rushed down to the dark street and back to Jayne's truck.

"Mommy, Daddy!" he heard the little girl exclaim behind him. "They shot my clown!"

It wasn't until they were back in the truck and on the road, several miles away from the house, that the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. The rock salt hadn't worked. The clown wasn't a ghost. And that meant they had no idea what they were dealing with.

* * *

><p>"We are not leaving Janis on the side of the road."<p>

Dean rolled his eyes at Jayne's predictable complaint, bending over the back bumper of her rusty old truck. "We'll come back for her," he retorted, yanking the license plate loose.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He just smirked and handed Jayne her license plate.

"It's not really the side of the road," Lynn intervened. "We hid the truck, so the likelihood of it getting towed is slim. Janis will be fine."

Jayne did not look convinced. In fact, she looked positively livid, standing in the shade of the scrub trees and turning her license plate over in her hands. Fact was, Lynn was right. They'd picked a secluded spot, hidden from the rural road – not that it mattered, as Dean was pretty sure the road wasn't traveled very often. They were a decent walking distance from the road in question, parked in a tangle of bushes, under several scrubby looking trees. Dean walked around to the front of Jayne's truck and popped the front plate loose too, handing it to her.

"Will you stop pulling things off my truck?" she snapped.

"Do you really think they saw our plates?" Sam added skeptically.

Dean shrugged. "Why take the chance? Besides, I'm sick of riding bitch."

"I can think of other ways to make you the bitch," Jayne informed him.

He winked at her. "Let's see what you got."

She glowered at him. Dean walked away, stepping out of the shade, into the bright sunlight. He could hear the other three following him through the tall, brown grass, all four of them headed for the road.

The road was paved, but covered by a thin film of dust, and it wove its way through mile after mile of farmland and wooded nothing. They carried their bags on their shoulders, hiking down the deserted road back towards Mishicot. "Well, one thing's for sure," Dean announced, his duffel swinging from his hand.

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"We're not dealing with a spirit. That rock salt hit something solid."

"A person?" Sam suggested. "Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?"

"Yeah, and dresses up like a clown for kicks. You see anything in Dad's journal?"

"Nope."

"Well, I've got nothing," Lynn added. "I mean… solid creature, turns invisible, looks like a clown and kills parental figures… seriously, I can't even begin to suggest what we might be looking for."

They kept walking down the road. Dean lagged behind Sam just a bit, and Jayne walked beside him. Lynn was behind them all.

Sam slid his phone out of his pocket. "Who you calling?" Dean asked.

"Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash will know something," Sam replied.

Lynn snorted from behind them. "What?" Dean asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Ash, the genius?" she returned, raising her eyebrow. She smirked, and took a large step forward, angling her elbow into her sister's side. "Jaynie's new boyfriend?"

"Don't piss me off right now," Jayne replied, adjusting her duffel strap on her shoulder. "We just abandoned my truck in some bushes. I'm liable to kill one of you."

He smirked slightly. "Sorry," Lynn practically sang. "I'm just saying… he seemed kind of into you."

"Even if he can figure out this demon crap, we'll still probably never see him again after this," Jayne pointed out. "And anyway, he has a mullet."

Dean snorted. "What?" Lynn asked, rounding on him. "Is it really so funny that someone might be attracted to Jayne?"

He was taken aback by the accusing tone of her voice. Damn her, anyway. Was she really going to turn the conversation in this stupid direction?

"Nah," he said, shrugging. "Just, you know… he has a mullet."

"You two keep saying that like it's a hanging offense," Lynn replied. "You know who else had a mullet? Steve Perry."

Jayne shuddered. "Never was a big Journey fan."

"Bono."

"Or a big U2 fan."

"Patrick Swayze, Steve McQueen, Chuck Norris…"

"Quit while you're ahead."

Lynn huffed, but fell silent. Dean was glad, because all this 'Ash digs Jayne' crap was starting to annoy him.

"Hey," Sam spoke up suddenly. "You think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?"

Dean scoffed. "No way."

"Then why didn't he tell us about her?"

"I don't know. Maybe they had some sort of falling out."

"Yeah," Sam muttered. "Ever notice that Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?"

Dean didn't answer that question. He looked off to the side of the road, his eyes roving over the trees and the cattails. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his father. Hell, he'd rather Lynn start blathering about Ash again.

"Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man," Sam snapped.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this strong, silent thing of yours. It's crap. I'm over it."

"Oh, god."

"This isn't just anyone we're talking about – this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man."

"You know what, back off, all right? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to…"

"No," Sam interrupted. "No, that's now what this is about. I don't care how you deal with this, Dean, but you _have _to deal with it, man!"

He shook his head in irritation, but Sam kept going. "Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're ok…"

"I'm ok!" Dean roared. "I'm ok, Sam! I swear, the next person who asks if I'm ok… I'm going to start throwing punches!"

He was sick and fucking tired of everyone and his brother having an opinion about his father, and his death, and how Dean must be feeling about it – what Dean had to do to deal with it. It was bull. He could handle his father's death any damn way he pleased. The last thing he was going to do was talk about it.

Still, Sam had pricked a nerve, and before Dean could rein it in, it was all spilling out – every last hard feeling about Sam and his father and the past week of his life. "These are _your_ issues; quit dumping them on me!"

It didn't matter that they were in the middle of nowhere, standing in the road, and it didn't matter that they weren't alone. The more heated the argument got, the more uncomfortable Jayne and Lynn looked. But Dean was past caring about their company, and apparently so was Sam.

"What are you talking about?"

"I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man! Hell, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him, and_ now_ that he's dead, _now _you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry, Sam, but you can't. It's too little, too late."

"Why are you saying this to me?"

"Because I just want you to be honest with yourself about this! I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?"

The silence was more deafening than either Sam or Dean's shouting. Dean stood there in the road, glaring at his brother, his chest heaving up and down. Sam glared back, looking every bit as pissed as Dean was. Nobody said a word.

"I'm going to call Ellen," Sam broke the silence. Then he marched off down the road, leaving the other three in his dust.

Dean didn't watch him walk away. He stared unseeingly at the trees on the side of the road, trying to absorb what had just happened. Lynn cleared her throat, and he glanced at her, his eyes still hard, daring her to say anything.

She chose not to speak. Instead, she shrugged, looked away, and squared her shoulders before walking off after Sam. As far as Dean could tell, she didn't speak to him either.

Jayne, he couldn't get rid of. She stood there, staring at him. He tried to glare at her, but her eyes were as hard as his, and she wasn't giving in any time soon. Dean swallowed and looked away, before walking down the road again.

She was silent. He kept waiting for it; the inevitable, fairly rare Jayne speech she usually gave when he was acting like an asshole. The speech didn't happen. Jayne stayed silent. The two of them walked down the road, side-by-side, not speaking a word. It was oddly comforting. Dean purposely lagged behind Sam and Lynn, knowing once Sam got off the phone, something would have to be said. Jayne kept his pace.

Eventually, Sam and Lynn stopped walking and waited for the other two to join them. When they were all together, Sam announced, "Rakshasa."

Dean frowned. "What's that?"

"Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form and feed on human flesh. They can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited."

Dean nodded. "So they dress up like clowns, and the children invite them in."

"Yeah."

"Why don't they just munch on the kids?"

"No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?"

"Nice," Lynn muttered. "Totally not grisly at all."

"What else you find out?" Dean asked.

"Apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor," Sam replied. "They sleep on a bed of dead insects."

"Nice."

"Disgusting," Lynn added.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "And they have to feed a few times every twenty to thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess."

"That makes sense," Dean mused. "The carnival today, the Bunker Brothers back in '81…"

"Right. There were probably more before that."

"So, who do we know that worked both shows?"

"Cooper?"

"Cooper."

"You know, that picture of his father? Looked just like him."

"You thinking maybe it was him?"

Sam shrugged. "Well… who knows how old he is."

"What about the Amazing Papazian?" Jayne asked suddenly. "Didn't he work both shows?"

Dean frowned over his shoulder at her. "Did he?"

"Well, he knew about Cooper and the Bunker Brothers."

"Huh," Dean murmured. "But he's blind."

"Well… he can make himself _look_ blind."

"You think it's the blind guy?"

Jayne shrugged. "Barry, Cooper… anyone's guess."

"How do we kill it?" Lynn asked.

Sam sighed. "Legend goes, a dagger made out of pure brass."

"Well, now I really hope it's not the blind guy," Dean announced. "Because I actually think I know where to get one of those, and if Barry's the Rakshasa… that puts a serious kink in my plan."

Jayne snorted. Sam smirked slightly. "Well, before we go stabbing things into either one of them, we better make damn sure we know who the Rakshasa is," he said.

"Such a stickler for details, Sammy."

"So what's the plan?" Lynn asked.

"Check and see if Cooper's got bed bugs," Dean replied. "I'll round up the blade."

"While I check to see if _Barry's_ got bed bugs," Jayne added. "Seeing as it could just as easily be him."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," Dean smirked. "Picking on a poor old blind guy like that."

"Shut up."

The four of them kept on trekking down the road, lapsing once again into silence. Dean wasn't about to apologize to Sam – he didn't plan on bringing up that fight ever again. Sam seemed equally content to pretend the words they'd exchanged mere minutes ago had never happened.

Really, it wasn't just the fact that his father was dead that got to him. It was what his father had said to him right before he died; it was the way his father had died, barely an hour after Dean had woken up. He knew, deep down, that his father's death could not be a coincidence – he knew, deep down, that somehow he was responsible.

And the things his father had whispered in his ear… Dean couldn't shake them. He heard them, playing over and over in his head, every minute of every day.

* * *

><p>It was after dark by the time they made it back to the carnival. All the customers had left for the day, and the lot was mostly deserted now, save for the odd Cooper employee stumbling about the dark corridors between trailers, shutting down the rides and turning off the bright lights. Sam hunkered down on the side of Mr. Cooper's personal trailer, his eyes scanning the lot before him, trying to spot workers in the dark. Deciding he was in the clear, he turned to look over his shoulder at his one companion.<p>

"Let's go," he whispered.

Lynn met his eyes and nodded. "Just so you know, sneaking into an old man's trailer and checking out his bed is kind of super creepy."

Sam rolled his eyes and decided to ignore that sidebar. He ducked around the corner of the trailer, Lynn following on his heels. They crept along the outside, reaching the dark door, where Lynn kept watch while Sam picked the lock. Finally, they ducked into the trailer.

The trailer was dimly lit and deserted. Sam's eyes roved over the small space, taking in the antique carnival posters, the aging furniture, and the single bed in the corner, its bed sheets rumpled. That ugly, creepy clown chair was still there, staring accusingly at Sam as he made his way across the trailer.

He pulled out his pocket knife and kneeled beside the cot. Lynn got down on the floor beside him, watching intently as he lifted up the sheets and prepared to cut into the mattress.

The cock of a shotgun stopped them both cold. A tiny gasp escaped Lynn's lips as they both turned around to see who had caught them. Mr. Cooper was standing on the other end of the trailer, his shot gun leveled at the intruders.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked calmly.

Sam swallowed, lowering the pocket knife in his hand. Lynn cringed, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "See?" she murmured. "Creepy."

One thing was for certain, Sam decided. If Cooper really had been the Rakshasa, he wouldn't have bothered with the gun. That left them back at square one, with no idea who the monster really was.

Unless it was the blind guy, of course. And if that were the case, both Dean and Jayne were probably in trouble.

* * *

><p>The first thing Dean did when the four of them had returned to the carnival was track down Barry, or the Amazing Papazian. Jayne had come with him, of course, still quietly determined that the Amazing Papazian could be the Rakshasa, and looking to prove it.<p>

Dean didn't buy it – he didn't know why he didn't buy it, but he knew that he didn't. Honestly, he thought Jayne was being paranoid about the whole thing. Cooper was the more likely culprit.

When the two of them finally found Barry, he was still inside his large, red and white striped tent. The show was over, and the carnival employees were shutting everything down – turning off lights, putting things away, and sweeping up after messy carnival-goers. Dean had marched right up to Barry and asked him if he had a brass knife.

Jayne had responded by rolling her eyes. Fortunately, Barry didn't see that.

Now Barry was leading the pair of hunters back towards his dressing room – a small, makeshift construction made from cheap plywood inside the canvas tent. There was a large star painted on his door.

"I've got all kinds of knives," Barry said as he led them down the red and white striped corridor. "I don't know if I've got a brass one though."

His white cane was moving double time, checking for obstacles in its owner's path. Dean glanced over his shoulder at Jayne, who was watching Barry suspiciously, obviously still holding onto the idea that he might be the killer clown. This time, Dean rolled his eyes.

Barry unlocked his door and led them inside the room. Dean took in bare, cheap, unfinished walls, the red and white striped fabric of the tent visible in the corners, making up the ceiling. Barry tapped a large trunk by the door with his cane and made his way further into the room. "Check the trunk," he ordered.

Dean glanced at him and then bent over the trunk in question, lifting the lid. Jayne, moving slowly and quietly on account of Barry's out of control blind guy hearing, headed for the cot on the other side of the room, obviously still intent on proving that Barry was the Rakshasa. Dean ignored her, rifling through the contents of the trunk. He moved an old, black, cotton coat, and then a shiny, silky, sequined blue cape. Then he froze.

Under the top layer of clothing was a faded tan clown-suit with large, faded red polka-dots, as well as a curly red wig. Swallowing, Dean lifted the wig and heard the distinct, all too familiar sound of tiny, tinkling bells.

He whirled around and stared at Barry, who still stood in the center of the room, clutching his cane and hiding behind his dark glasses. "You?" he asked.

Jayne turned around at that, abandoning her quest for Barry's mattress. Barry smirked at them both, dropping his cane and removing his glasses. His once milky eyes were now clear and brown.

"Me," he returned. Then his clear brown eyes turned silver, the pupils narrowing into slits. Dean watched wide-eyed, swallowing hard as Barry's face began to shift. He faded away into nothingness, his eyes glowing bright green, lingering behind him for a brief moment, and then vanishing like the rest of him.

Dean swallowed again, his eyes darting across the room at Jayne. She was staring at the place Barry had been, but looked up at him as his gaze fell on her. Her shocked expression faded, and she cocked an eyebrow.

"I feel like this might be a bad time to say I told you so."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. Then, suddenly, the air sang as something flew past his ear. Dean ducked, hearing a heavy _clunk!_ as a knife embedded itself in the plywood behind his head.

He jumped back up, looking all around him for the source of the flying dagger. A second knife whizzed through the air, narrowly missing Jayne, who ducked just in time. The knife hit the wall behind her and stuck fast. Eyes wide, she straightened up and made a beeline for the exit.

Dean turned for the door and tried to yank it open, but the door resisted. He fumbled with the handle in panic, only to have another knife fly past his ear and stick in the door. Dean whirled again, ducking just in time to avoid a second knife that embedded itself next to the first.

"All right, all right!" he bellowed at the invisible Rakshasa. Turning away, he kicked the door open with a loud _pop!_ and then rushed out of the dressing room and into the tent. He stumbled, hitting the ground and then rolling back up. Jayne tore out of the room behind him, and both of them rushed out of the tent and into the night air.

Panting, they raced around the corner of the tent, stumbling over one another. "Shit," Dean hissed, stopping short and glancing around them.

Jayne nodded in agreement. "For the record, I was right," she said breathlessly. "I win. You owe me a beer."

"Hey!"

The shout startled them both. Dean whirled around and found Sam and Lynn approaching, both of them frowning. "So," Sam began. "Cooper thinks we're peeping Toms, but it's not him."

"Yeah, so I gathered," Dean returned. "It's the blind guy."

"I was right," Jayne added.

"We get it," Dean growled.

Sam shook his head. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Well… did you get the brass blades?"

"No," Dean retorted. "No, it's just been one of those days."

Lynn sighed, looking around them with narrowed eyes. "Great. So what do we do now?"

Dean had no fucking idea. He was still on high alert, looking over his shoulder for the Rakshasa – despite the fact that the attacker he was looking for was literally invisible. Jayne was frowning in the same direction.

"I have an idea," Sam announced suddenly. "Come on."

Then Sam turned away and rushed across the darkened carnival lot, headed straight for the funhouse. Not faced with many options, the other three followed him, racing through the dust and then up the steel steps and into the giant clown's mouth that constituted the funhouse door.

The inside of the funhouse was dark, the only light coming from the glowing green and orange doorframes at the beginning of each possible route. Waves had been painted on the dark floor to confuse the eyes.

They rushed across the wavy floor, headed down the main hall. Sam and Lynn made it through the doorway, but before Dean and Jayne could reach it, the sliding door slammed shut.

"Sam!" Dean called, trying uselessly to pry open the door.

His brother's voice was faint behind the barrier. "Dean, find the maze, ok?"

The order was followed by the sound of Sam and Lynn's footsteps headed away from the door. Dean cussed, pounding his fist against the barrier, and then rounding on Jayne. She stood behind him, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. Dean sighed and grabbed her arm, dragging her off towards the maze. "Come on," he grunted.

She jerked her arm irritably from his grasp, but still followed close behind. He rolled his eyes at her behavior, but didn't allow himself time to dwell on it. The two of them rushed through the maze, eyes peeled for Sam and Lynn – or the Rakshasa.

They found Sam and Lynn first, on the other side of the funhouse maze. Sam was jiggling one of the brass pipes on the self-playing organ, hissing with pain every time he got too close to the hot steam the organ pipes emitted. Even as he pulled on the pipe, the organ continued to play that same slow, pokey, annoying carnival tune. Lynn stood close by, hovering around over Sam's shoulder, glancing around for the monster.

"Hey," Dean greeted them.

Lynn jumped, staggering back against the organ. Sam whirled around at his voice, and then returned to pulling on the organ pipe. "Hey," he said back. "Where is it?"

"I don't know," Dean replied. "I mean, shouldn't we see its clothes walking around or something?"

Suddenly, the air sang, just the way it had back in Barry's dressing room. Jayne darted backwards, pulling on his sleeve. He stumbled towards her and into the wall. The dagger whirling through the air narrowly missed him, piercing his jacket sleeve instead and pinning him to the wall.

Before anyone could react, the sound came again, and a second dagger appeared out of nowhere, piercing Dean's jacket again, and sticking in the wall. Dean pulled on the knife, but to no avail. His eyes darted around the funhouse, seeing the flashing neon lights and the ugly, creepy decorations, but no Rakshasa. Sam grunted loudly, and finally yanked the organ pipe free.

Jayne glanced around quickly and then darted in front of Dean. He frowned down at the top of her head as she started pulling on one of the daggers pinning him in place. Sam was creeping forward into the funhouse maze, holding onto his pipe. Lynn was behind him, just far enough to not get in his way. Her brown eyes were wide and she was looking all around them, obviously feeling uneasy.

She could join the club. Dean worked on the other dagger as Jayne continued trying to pry loose the first.

"Dean, where is it?" Sam demanded from his end of maze.

"I don't know!" Dean snapped.

"It's invisible," Jayne added sharply.

The air sang for a third time. Sam ducked just in time to avoid the dagger that flew past his head. Lynn gave a short shriek and hit the ground, scrambling into the corner to avoid getting hit. Dean glanced around, feeling panicked, his throat closing up and his stomach turning over. There had to be a way to trap the thing – some way to spot it.

His eyes fell on the switch connected to the radiator pipes, just above his head. The pipes that led to the organ and provided the steam that kept it playing. Dean stretched, straining and groaning with effort, trying to reach the little lever. Jayne's eyes followed his reach, and then she abandoned the knife in his jacket and darted towards the lever, standing on her toes and giving it a yank.

The organ hissed loudly, releasing a huge cloud of steam into the maze. Mere seconds later, the room was filled with fog. Dean continued trying to pull the knives loose, his eyes peeled for the Rakshasa. Jayne darted back to his side and grabbed one of the daggers, trying to free him. Lynn had disappeared in the fog, presumably still kneeling in her corner, but Dean could still see Sam, treading carefully through the steam, his brass pipe at the ready.

Jayne grunted loudly, and Dean heard a _pop!_ as she finally pried one of the knives loose. She dropped it at his feet and immediately set to work on the next. Dean watched the fog behind her head, looking for unusual shadows.

He found one, shaped sort of like a man, lurking in the mist just behind his brother. The shadow moved. "Sam, behind you!" Dean bellowed. "Behind you!"

His brother didn't even turn around. Sam propelled the dagger backwards with both hands, straining with the effort to drive it into the creature. There was a soft, wet sound as the makeshift dagger made contact with the Rakshasa. Then the creature began to shriek.

Jayne popped the second dagger loose just then, and Dean stumbled forward off the wall. Panting, he flipped back the radiator switch, and then made his way through the steam towards his brother. Sam had backed away from the dying monster, abandoning his pipe. Jayne was behind him, and he finally caught sight of Lynn, her head popping out of the fog. She headed in their direction too.

There was blood spouting out the end of the brass pipe, and he could see the glow of the Rakshasa's eyes through the mist. Barry's dark suit appeared on the funhouse floor, spattered with blood. Eventually, the shrieking faded away, and the crumpled pile of bloody clothes was still, the brass organ pipe protruding from the belly. All four hunters gathered in a huddle, surrounded by the steam, gawking at the invisible corpse.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at the other three. Lynn made a face, folding her arms over her chest, and Jayne slumped against the wall. Dean just shook his head.

"I hate funhouses."

* * *

><p>It had been a long hunt, and Jayne couldn't help the long yawn that escaped her mouth as she parked her truck in the Harvelle Roadhouse's gravel lot. The sun was beating down on the scrubby, overgrown property, and Jayne squinted against the bright light, longing for sleep – or maybe just a stiff drink.<p>

Her sister was dozing in the passenger seat, and Jayne would bet good money the Winchesters were sleeping in the back. Shutting down the engine, Jayne reached across the cab and slugged Lynn in the arm.

Lynn jumped, sitting up straight and blinking sleep from her eyes as she looked all around the truck cab, apparently expecting a fight. Jayne chuckled, and Lynn relaxed, falling back against the seat. She fixed Jayne with a glower.

"Hate you," she grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah," Jayne retorted. "Let's just head on in and get this over with."

Lynn smirked. "Anxious to see Ash again, are we?"

"It's like you enjoy getting smacked in the head."

Her sister smirked again, and then swung open the cab door and hopped down into the parking lot. Jayne groaned, rolling her shoulders and then leapt out of the truck too. She pounded loudly on the side of the bed and called out, "Up and at 'em, boys! Let's go!"

Both Sam and Dean jumped, and then sat up straight, puffy-eyed and half asleep. Jayne smirked at them, earning a glare from each brother.

"Thanks," Sam muttered before leaping out of the bed. Lynn was already sauntering towards the front door of the tavern and Sam followed her slowly, kicking at the gravel as he went. Dean shook his head, and then swung himself down from the back of the truck.

He stood too close, his chest inches away, and smirked down at her. "You enjoy that?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yep. You owe me a beer, by the way."

Then she smirked back at him and brushed past his arm, heading for the Roadhouse.

When they entered the dim, dusty, rundown old tavern, they found Ellen behind the bar, scrubbing a glass, and Jo out on the floor, serving drinks to a table full of hunters. Jayne assumed they were hunters because they looked gruff and tough and kind of dirty. They sat around their table, nursing their drinks and cleaning their guns – an act that, if she were being honest, Jayne was surprised tough, no-nonsense Ellen would allow.

Ash was nowhere in sight. Lynn and Sam were already taking seats at the bar and saying hello to Ellen, so Jayne shrugged and joined them, Dean following close behind.

"Hey," Ellen greeted them. "How'd it go?"

"Good," Sam answered. "We got the thing, so… good."

Ellen nodded. "Well, then, you all did a hell of a job. Your father would be proud."

"Thanks," Sam returned.

"So, who needs a drink?" Ellen asked, a small smile playing on her face.

"Me," Lynn chirped, raising her hand.

"Yeah, me too," Dean grunted, and then he gestured at Jayne, "And I need a beer for the lady."

"Damn straight you do," Jayne retorted.

"I'll have one too," Sam added.

The older woman smiled and grabbed the requested beers, popping the caps. Jayne took a long drink of the cold, foamy liquid, and then set her bottle down on the bar.

"Where's Ash?" Sam asked.

Ellen jerked her thumb towards the back. "Working… sleeping… not really sure. Haven't seen him since you left."

Jayne rolled her eyes at that. Lynn sighed and then took a long drink from her beer. "So," Lynn said once she'd swallowed. "Who's going to play pool with me?"

"No one," Jayne retorted.

Lynn pouted at her. "Come on, please?"

Jayne shook her head. Lynn pouted at her some more, and then at the two boys. Dean grimaced and looked away. Jayne shook her head again, and Lynn slumped against the counter. "Why not?" she asked.

"I'm tired," Jayne grumbled. "And you always win."

"Sore loser."

"Whatever. Go hustle one of those poor bastards over there."

Lynn made a face at her. Sam drank from his beer and then offered Lynn a smile. "I'll play."

"Yay!" she exclaimed, and then she stuck her tongue out at Jayne. She rolled her eyes. Lynn and Sam grabbed their beers and headed for the pool table in the back.

Jayne turned to Dean, but he was looking down towards the end of the bar, watching Jo pretend to clean something. The petite, doe-eyed blonde was wearing a gray shirt that showed off an inch of her midriff, and her hair was swept back, away from her face. Jo looked up and caught Dean's eyes, and he smirked slightly, before getting off his barstool and walking over to the bartender.

She watched him sit down beside her and start talking, wearing that stupid, flirty little smirk of his that he always gave girls in bars. It had never bothered her before – well, ok. It had bothered her a little. But now, ever since all that crap that had gone down a little over a week ago, it bothered her a lot.

Jayne turned away, because she wasn't going to torture herself by watching, and she wasn't going to give Dean the satisfaction of seeing her jealous. Not that he'd notice, she was sure. He was oblivious – he had to be. She rested her elbow on the bar, propping up her chin with her fist, and took another long drink.

"So," Ellen said conversationally. "You're Ana Gibson's daughter?"

Jayne frowned at her. "You knew my mom?"

"I knew Russ," Ellen corrected her. "He told me a little about her."

"You sure know a lot of hunters."

"Well, the Roadhouse has always been kind of a gathering place for hunters. Bill started it, and I just… well, stayed with tradition, I guess."

"Bill?"

"My husband. He's, uh… he's gone now."

There was a short silence. Jayne swallowed, trying to convey her sympathy. "I'm sorry."

Ellen shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

They didn't speak for a few moments. Ellen organized glasses on the rack behind the bar. Then she glanced at Jayne again. "Jo talks about it sometimes," she admitted. "Hunting."

Jayne raised her eyebrow. "She want to do it?"

Ellen shrugged. "So she says. Don't know if I buy it. Know she won't last a hot minute out there."

It was starting to get under Jayne's skin, the way Ellen seemed intent on talking to her. She didn't entirely get it – couldn't see the angle. Why was this woman she barely knew trying to get to know her?

"I try to keep her close," Ellen murmured.

Jayne studied her a moment, and then nodded once. "Right," she said quietly. "Right, I get that."

The strange thing was Jayne actually did get that. She got it a lot.

She began to notice then that Ellen's focus wasn't on her – hadn't been, the whole time they were talking. The older woman kept darting glances down at the other end of the bar, her eyes narrowed suspiciously at Dean and her daughter. Jayne followed her gaze and cocked her eyebrow. Now, she saw the angle.

"So tell me," Ellen began conversationally. "You and your sister… you spend a lot of time with John's boys?"

Jayne pursed her lips, studying the older woman. "Yeah, we've been on the road together for a few months now."

Ellen nodded. "So you like them then?"

"Sure."

"They're good boys?"

Jayne almost laughed, but caught herself. She sincerely hoped this wasn't Ellen's idea of subtlety. "Good enough."

Ellen raised an eyebrow at her. Jayne hid a smirk. "Sam's mostly decent," she said casually. "Good hunter. His heart's in the right place. You know, all that crap."

"Mm-hmm," Ellen murmured, her eyes on the spot she was wiping. "What about Dean?"

What about Dean? Well, wasn't that the million dollar question. If Jayne had an answer for it, she'd be a much happier person – maybe. Maybe the road to happiness involved other people _not_ asking her that same, stupid question.

Although, Jayne could see from the suspicious way Ellen's eyes kept darting to the end of the bar, watching Dean and Jo like a hawk, that Ellen didn't give a damn about Jayne and what she felt for Dean – Ellen cared about _Jo_ and Dean.

"He's a good hunter," Jayne replied. "Good to have in your corner."

Ellen nodded, barely feigning an interest. Jayne took a sip from her beer. "He's a good friend," she admitted softly. "Most of the time."

The tavern owner nodded again. "Good," Ellen murmured. "That's good."

Jayne raised her eyebrow again, watching Ellen fidget about, still darting glances at Dean and Jo. "But when it comes to dating," Jayne offered, tilting her head and trying to sound disinterested. "He can be a real sleazebag."

Ellen's head shot up, her eyes landing on Jayne's. Jayne smirked at her, and Ellen shook her head slightly, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she realized she'd been found out. "Right," she murmured ruefully. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Jayne knew it was mean to feel triumphant as she watched Ellen straighten her back and march towards Jo and Dean, clearly intent on cock-blocking. She couldn't really make herself care, though. She was mean, sometimes. And she didn't like to watch Dean hitting on Jo.

She could go into why, but she also didn't really like dwelling on her feelings for Dean.

There was a heavy thump on the barstool beside her just then, and Jayne looked up to see Ash sitting next to her, holding something that looked like Coke but smelled like whiskey. Something that might have once been a laptop was on the bar behind him. And the icing on the cake… he was wearing his plaid shirt turned vest again, but this time he'd forgotten to wear anything under it.

He smirked at her, cocking his eyebrow.

"Oh, god," she drawled. "You better be about to tell me you're finished with John's research."

"I _am_ finished with John's research," Ash returned, his voice too loud. "So, where have you all been?"

"Hunting a killer clown."

"Clown? What the fu…?"

"If you're finished," Jayne cut him off. "Then let's see what you got."

He raised his eyebrow again and leaned towards her. "I would _love_ to show you what I got."

"Stop being creepy."

He leaned back against the counter, studying her in a way that made Jayne shift uncomfortably on her barstool. He lifted his eyebrow, still frowning and resting on his elbows. "You know something?"

"What?"

He pointed a finger in her direction. "I like you."

She rolled her eyes. "Sweet Jesus."

"Hey," she heard Dean bark from behind her. She looked over her shoulder and found him taking a seat on her other side. "You got something for us, Ash?"

Ash groaned, straightening up and turning back towards the pimped out laptop on the bar. Lynn and Sam crossed over from the pool table and took seats around the corner of the bar, directly on Ash's right.

"Hey, Ash," Lynn greeted him.

"Hey," he grunted. Lynn frowned at him, looking slightly put out. Sam watched the roadie reject intently, his eyes darting between Ash and the laptop.

"Did you find the demon?" he asked.

Ash shook his head, opening up the laptop. "It's nowhere around – at least, nowhere I can find. But if this ugly bastard raises its head, I'll know. I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ash looked ridiculously superior as he turned the computer around and let everyone see the screen. Jayne was taken aback by what she saw; weather trackers and a whole bunch of other crap, congealed together on the monitor while a blinking dialogue box claimed that a program was being run. All the extra wires and gadgets attached to the laptop were blinking red. "I mean," Ash smirked. "If any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my radar will go off, like a fire alarm."

Jayne frowned at the computer, still amazed at the work Ash had done. A low whistle escaped her lips. "Holy crap," she muttered. "This actually doesn't suck."

The genius in question smirked at her. "I know," he announced, looking off across the bar, trying to sound lofty or arrogant or something… he was failing, so it didn't really matter. His eyes returned to her, and he actually winked. "Impressive, huh?"

She wrinkled her nose slightly, and looked away.

Dean reached for the computer, but Ash cleared his throat, shifting challengingly on the barstool. Quickly, Dean withdrew his fingers. "Sorry," he grunted.

"What's up?" Ash retorted.

"Ok," Lynn spoke up. "Thank you, Ash. This is… this is really awesome."

"Yep," Ash agreed.

Sam frowned again. "Where did you learn to do all this stuff?"

"MIT," Ash replied. "Before I got bounced for fighting."

"MIT?" Sam repeated incredulously.

"It's a school in Boston."

"Ok," Dean took over. "Call us as soon as you know something?"

"Si, si compadre."

Dean smirked. Jayne rolled her eyes. Then Dean took a long gulp of his beer and set it down on the counter before getting to his feet. Ash swiped the bottle and finished it off.

Jayne got to her feet, following Dean towards the door. Lynn and Sam were directly behind them. "Hey," Ellen called after them as they made to step through the exit. "Listen. If you need a place to stay, I got a couple beds out back."

She would have frozen up at the suggestion – staying with people she didn't know, putting up with Ash, watching Dean make eyes at Jo – it sounded like hell. But she knew what Dean would say to that offer, and so she didn't freeze.

"Thanks, but no," he told Ellen. "I got something I got to finish."

Ellen nodded and gave them a small smile. "Ok."

It felt weird, walking out the door of the roadhouse. Ash and Jo and Ellen were all staring after them, nodding goodbyes. She barely knew these people, and she didn't really see the need for pleasantries. Still, they all nodded back, and then the four of them stepped out into the sunlight.

"You know," Dean said, falling into step beside her as they strode across the dusty gravel lot. "I don't get it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't get what?"

He shrugged. "Just… you really got a knack for attracting… you know… crazy rednecks."

Jayne didn't know how to read that, but she was too realistic to call it jealously. She simply shrugged back and pulled ahead of him, marching for her truck. "Yeah, well… you got a thing about hot chicks who tend bar, so… whatever."

She clambered up into the cab before he could offer a retort and slammed the door shut behind her. Lynn joined her seconds later, and then Jayne heard the heavy clunks of Sam and Dean getting situated in the bed of her truck. She turned the key in the ignition, prepared for the long drive back to Bobby Singer's South Dakota junkyard.

She really hoped it'd rain on the way back.

* * *

><p>The sun was hot, and Dean was already sweating, out in Bobby's junkyard, slaving away on the Impala once again. They'd been back at Bobby's for less than an hour, but if there was one thing Dean was sick of doing, it was riding bitch in the back of Jayne's truck. He needed his baby up and running again and he needed her soon.<p>

He was kneeling in the dust, focused on installing a new hubcap, twisting the tools, hand over hand. The last thing he wanted right now as a confrontation with his brother, but Sam always did have crappy timing.

Dean heard Sam pick his way through the junkyard, but he didn't look up from his work. Sam was persistent though. He walked past the Impala's newly built shell, stepping over Dean's leg as he passed behind him. Dean glanced at up at him, and Sam came to a stop behind the car, resting his hands on the truck. "You were right," Sam murmured.

He got to his feet and walked around the other side of the car. "About what?"

"About me and Dad. I'm sorry that the last time I was with him, I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him."

Dean stood still at the back wheel of his car, staring at his brother, trying not to react. Sam kept going.

"So, you're right. What I'm doing right now is too little, too late."

His brother's voice was all wobbly and his eyes were all red, and Dean could see him blinking back tears. He didn't move – he stood still, staring, silent.

"I miss him, man," Sam admitted. "And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know."

Dean had nothing to say. Sam turned. "I'll let you get back to work."

He watched Sam walk away, briefly, and then he turned again, lifting his crowbar off the ground. But he didn't go back to work. He couldn't. Dean paused, and then suddenly he was whirling, the crowbar flying through the air. It crashed through glass, taking out the driver side window on a junked blue sedan parked beside the Impala.

It felt good, destroying something – possibly better than fixing something. He panted slightly, trying to still the shaking in his arm muscles, tense and ready to swing the crowbar again. Dean turned towards Bobby's house, picking out his brother's back bobbing through the cars. He went blind for a moment.

_Clang! Clang! Clang!_ The sound of the crowbar hitting the trunk of the Impala echoed through the junkyard. Dean grunted with each blow, hitting harder and harder and harder, watching the door shake under the duress, until he'd beaten a hole in the center of the trunk. And then the tension in his muscles gave out, and the crowbar fell from his hands, and he fell forward, catching himself on the back of the car, his arms shaking as they tried to support him.

He took a deep breath and his vision cleared. Slowly, he straightened up, the fog lifting form his mind. A quick glance around the yard revealed he was still alone. Dean glared back at Bobby's house, and then he surveyed the mess he'd made out of his car.

It was mechanic, the way he lifted the trunk, removing the door from its hinges. Slowly, he set about cataloguing what he still needed to repair.

This car, after all, was the only thing he could fix.

* * *

><p>Lynn arranged herself at Bobby Singer's kitchen table, setting up her computer and her journals, and prepared herself to dive back into the demon hunt. Although the short reprieve had been nice, they were back at Bobby's, and that could only mean one thing. Dean had already vanished into the junkyard to work on the Impala and Sam likewise had disappeared – though Lynn couldn't imagine to where. So she'd decided to stick with what she knew; sitting in Bobby's kitchen, doing research, and being disappointed.<p>

It was definitely a routine now, Lynn noted, this gathering in Bobby's kitchen, doing research and fixing Dean's car business. If she were being honest, she'd have to admit she could get used to having a home base all too easily. In a way, the Singer Salvage Yard reminded her of Hannigan's Pub – a place a hunter went when the road was getting too long and too lonesome, and he or she couldn't seem to find the answers on their own anymore. It had yet to be said, but Lynn had a feeling Bobby Singer and his scary disorganized house had been one of the few permanent fixtures throughout the Winchesters' childhood. Both boys seemed strangely at ease there, the way Lynn felt at ease whenever she and Jayne popped by the Pub for a visit.

As she sat in the kitchen, waiting for her laptop to boot up, she heard the creak of a floorboard. Lynn turned around to find Bobby moseying into the room, an empty mug in his hand. "Hey, Bobby," she greeted him.

"Hey," he grunted back, headed for the coffee pot. Lynn nearly laughed – this exact scene had played before her every day for the past week. "Find Ellen?"

"Yep," Lynn replied. "She owns a terrible little tavern frequented by hunters, including John Winchester and, strangely enough, my father. You telling me you didn't know anything about this?"

Bobby shrugged, filling his coffee mug. "There's lots of terrible little taverns out there," he retorted. "I can't be expected to know all of them."

She smiled slightly. Bobby turned around and leaned on the counter, taking a drink from his coffee. "Research again?" he asked.

Lynn nodded. "Yeah. Ellen had this computer genius boarder named Ash, and he set up some sort of computerized demon tracker using John's research – I didn't really understand all the technical stuff, but…"

"Computers," Bobby grumbled, shuddering. "Seems to me that's the one thing that shouldn't mix with demons."

"Yeah, well, I don't know what to tell you then. Anyway, he's helping us track this thing, but I figured everyone would want to keep looking for it ourselves, so…"

Bobby nodded. "Sure."

There was a brief silence. Lynn frowned at Bobby. "Hey, you don't mind us hanging around, do you?" she asked. "I know you don't really know me or my sister, but it's just until Dean finishes the car…"

"Hey, I don't mind a little company now and then," Bobby cut her off. "You and your sister are as welcome as Sam and Dean."

"Good," Jayne's voice sounded from the kitchen door. "Because I got a feeling we ain't going anywhere anytime soon."

Bobby smirked at her. "Well, don't get _too _comfortable."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Jayne leaned against the doorframe and surveyed the tiny kitchen. "Dean working on the car?'

"Of course," Lynn sighed.

"Sam?"

"Beats me. You going to help?"

"Help with what?"

"Research…?"

"For what?"

Lynn heaved a sigh. "I don't know – the demon, I guess. I feel weird not doing anything."

Jayne nodded slowly. "Right. Maybe in a few, ok? I, uh… I think I got to go take care of something."

Then she was out the back door. Lynn frowned after her sister, watching her pale blonde head and her blue plaid tee shirt bob through the junked cars, under the bright afternoon sunlight. Soon, Jayne was gone from sight. Lynn drummed her fingers on the table, and then glanced at Bobby.

Bobby shrugged. "Well, don't look at me," he said. "I don't know what the hell's going on."

She cracked a smile at that. "You and me both, Bobby."

The front door creaked open just then, and Lynn frowned over her shoulder at the newest arrival. Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hair looking shaggy and windblown, and his face arranged in a troubled little pout.

"Hey," she murmured. "What's up?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing, just… same old, same old."

Lynn really didn't know what to make of that. Sam had just come in from the junkyard, where Dean was working on his car, and if she had to guess, she'd say the two of them had exchanged words again.

She decided not to guess. Instead, she studied Sam intently, watching as he lifted his own computer onto the kitchen table and turned it on. Slowly, Lynn got to her feet and headed for her bag, digging through the contents. Under one of her shirts she found a mostly full bottle of cheap whiskey.

She crossed back to the kitchen and set it down on the table. Sam looked up in surprise. Lynn ignored the look, heading to one of the kitchen cabinets and grabbing a couple of glasses. Bobby, still leaning on the counter, raised his eyebrow at her.

Lynn plunked the glasses down on the kitchen table. "What's this?" Sam asked

"What's it look like?" Lynn retorted. "It's whiskey. Seriously, I thought you went to college."

A small smile twitched across his face. "It's like four in the afternoon."

"So? That's like… happy hour."

Sam snorted. Bobby shook his head from across the kitchen. "You want one?" Lynn asked the older man.

He shook his head. "Nah. I'll just leave you kids alone. Don't mind me." Then he headed out of the kitchen. Lynn could hear him grumbling as he went. "It's not like it's my house or anything."

She laughed at that. Bobby disappeared into a different part of the house. Sam shook his head, grinning in spite of himself as Lynn took off the bottle cap and poured them each a glass. "What's the deal?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what inspired this sudden late afternoon whiskey drinking?"

"Your face."

Sam gave one short, disbelieving laugh, staring at her incredulously with a semi-goofy smile on his face. "What?"

Lynn smirked at him, taking a seat at the table and throwing back a good portion of her whiskey. She winced, feeling the sickly sweet liquor burn its way down her throat. "You think I'm joking?"

"My face inspired whiskey?"

She shrugged, dropping the smirk. "You looked sad."

Sam lost his smile too, nodding and staring at the tabletop. They were quiet for a moment, and then Lynn forced out another smirk. "And you know what's the cure for the sad?" she asked him.

He chuckled dryly. "Whiskey, apparently?"

"Yes. Whiskey. Whiskey, and a friend."

Sam's smile was soft and small, and his eyes were trained on the whiskey he'd yet to touch. Lynn took a deep breath, cradling her tumbler in her hands. "Look, you don't have to talk about it," she told him. "You don't have to tell me anything at all. I _am _going to sit here with you, though, and refill your glass, and be my usual charming, funny self."

Sam guffawed. Lynn ignored him.

"And maybe, by the end of the night, you'll feel a little better."

He smiled again, still small, and nodded. She watched him carefully, and then Sam looked up from the table, locking eyes with her. He lifted the whiskey up. "To maybe feeling a little better, then," he said.

She grinned and clinked her glass against his. They threw back the whiskey in their glasses, setting the empty tumblers down on the table with a _thump!_

Lynn reached for the bottle and poured them each a new drink. Sam raised his eyebrow. "Again?" he asked skeptically.

She smirked. "I told you I was here to refill your glass."

* * *

><p>It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened in the junkyard. Jayne had picked her way through the sea of cars, not sure what had motivated her to find him out there. He was busy with the car, and to be honest, she was kind of pissed at him. It was a bad time to be asking questions and defining feelings and looking for acknowledgement of… well, Jayne wasn't sure what.<p>

So she wasn't going to do any of those things. But Dean was so obviously messed up that she didn't know how to hold onto her anger. Usually it wasn't a problem for her, but something in her demanded that she check on him, constantly, and try to distract him. That was all she was good for, really – distracting him. Sam confronted him, Sam called him on his crap, Sam talked things out – and Jayne could do that too, she supposed. It wouldn't exactly be the first time. But she didn't feel it then – didn't feel the need to call him on his crap. She _wanted_ to distract him.

And he clearly needed a distraction. The Impala had been in good shape when they'd left her – well, not _good_ shape, but on the road to recovery. Now there was a gaping hole in the Impala's trunk, and broken glass littered the ground. An abandoned crowbar lay in the dirt, and she could hear the old radio on the workbench playing again.

Dean was sitting in the dirt on the other side of the car, back against the frame, nursing a flask, and to be honest, Jayne's first thought was the wrong thought.

_Since when did he have a flask?_

"Hey," she greeted him.

He grunted and barely glanced at her. Jayne stood there for a moment, thumbs hooked on the belt loops of her jeans, staring at him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and shifted from one foot to the other.

"So… you get into a fight with the car?" she asked.

"I'm not really in the mood to chat, Goldilocks."

He took a long swig from the flask. Jayne's eyes roved over him, taking in the tension in his muscles and the grease on his clothes. Dean refused to look at her, his eyes focused unseeingly at a random point across the yard. Jayne took a deep breath, and then walked on over to him, sitting down directly across from him, with her back against a junked out blue sedan.

He sighed harshly and shook his head. "If you're here to give me some crap about how I'm not ok, and I need to talk out my feelings or hug it out or whatever, then you can just head back inside. I already got an earful from Sam, and I don't need it from you."

Jayne cocked an eyebrow at him. "Since when do I ever tell people they need to hug it out?"

Dean fought back a small chuckle, but his eyes were still hard, and he still obviously did not want her there. She began to feel like maybe she should leave, but something in her was begging to stay.

"Hey," she said softly. "You know… look, I know you want to be left alone."

"Damn straight I do."

She swallowed and pushed on through. "None of us are ok," she told him. "None of us really know what we're doing. And you and Sam…"

"Stop."

"I'm not trying to push."

"Try harder."

His eyes were dark, and his brow was drawn in a hard, angry look. She bristled at the last comment and straightened her shoulders, looking him dead in the eye.

"I'm your friend," she told him. "I get that it annoys you, but I'm still allowed to worry."

He scoffed and looked at the dirt.

"I am not your punching bag," she told him. "So you can be angry, and you can be sad, and you can be irritated that no one will leave you alone about it, but you don't get to take any of that out on me."

Dean looked at her again. He caught her eye, and she stared back at him. For a long time, they just stared at one another.

"I'm not," he said finally, his voice hollow.

"It feels like it," she replied.

There was another long silence. After a while, Dean looked away, hanging his head and studying the dirt. Jayne stared at him a moment longer, and then she got to her feet.

"You need me, you know where I'll be," she said over her shoulder. Then she walked away.

He didn't follow.

* * *

><p>It was dark out now, and had been for several hours. Dean had quit on the car a while ago, not really feeling up to working on her anymore. Between Sam and Jayne and his own counter-productive fit of rage, it had gotten to be too much.<p>

There had been no one around when Dean had finally returned to the house. Jayne, Lynn, and Bobby were gone – presumably upstairs sleeping. Sam was passed out on the couch, covered by one of Bobby's moth-eaten old afghans. On the table had been a half full bottle of whiskey, and two dirty glasses sat in Bobby's sink.

So Dean had taken out a glass of his own, and he started to drink. Crashed in the other room and watched TV, nursing the bottle of whiskey while Sam slept in the study. He nearly drained the bottle.

Now, Dean stumbled up the stairs, blind with whiskey. His head was swimming, and he could barely see two feet in front of him. Still, he could walk Bobby's house in his sleep. He knew which room was his, and he knew which room Jayne was sleeping in.

He pushed the door open, louder than he meant to. She was in bed already, and the noise didn't wake her. Dean stood still in the doorway for a moment, staring at her. Bobby didn't own an air conditioner, and his house was stuffy with the July heat. The sheets were twisted around her, and her blanket was on the floor. He could see her bare, long white legs, and the curve of her breasts through her gray tank top.

Gently, he shut the door, and then he staggered over to her bed and flopped down beside her, gripping her arm. Suddenly, she was awake and swinging. Dean just barely dodged her fist. "Hey," he mumbled. "It's just me, Goldilocks."

Her arm stopped moving. She blinked up at him sleepily, her long blonde hair hanging in her face. "Dean?" she asked. Then she crinkled her nose. "You smell like shit."

"Bite me."

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe."

He was beyond drunk, really. Dean could barely see, could barely form articulate sentences – he could hardly hold up his head. All he knew was that he needed her.

She frowned at him, sitting up all the way in her bed. "You ok?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No," he admitted.

There was a long silent moment. She stared at him, and he stared back. Slowly, he shook his head again. "You were right," he slurred. "Sam was right. I'm not ok."

Jayne just stared at him for a moment. He lowered his eyes, and then flopped back on her bed, running his hands over his face. She didn't say anything at all – at first, she didn't even move. Her eyes were trained on the mattress, and she leaned on her elbow, just letting him lay there, drunk out of his mind.

Her warm hand rested on his forearm, squeezing gently. Dean lowered his hands, turning his head to stare at her. She moved her hand from his arm and then brushed it through his hair. Then she lowered herself back to the bed and leaned her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

Dean swallowed, blinking furiously. His arms circled around her waist and he held her there loosely, staring at the unfinished, white-washed ceiling and trying very hard not to cry or pass out.

Eventually, passing out won. His eyelids were heavy, and the darkness claimed him, pulling his whiskey-addled mind into unconsciousness. Jayne was still there when he finally fell asleep. She hadn't moved a muscle.


	3. Bloodlust

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous toAshlynPaige92, SPN Mum, deargoodbye, rivillie, ThreeMoons3, angeleyenc, darksnider666, Spelllesswonder29, ColtFan165 and Nelle07 for all the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 3: Bloodlust<p>

Jayne's rusty gray truck rumbled down the rural highway, under the warm, almost blinding sun. Squinting against the light, Jayne adjusted the visor hanging on her windshield, and then turned up the radio. Beside her in the passenger seat, Lynn heaved a sigh, staring out the window at the greenery flying on by.

"Janis Joplin?" she asked petulantly. "Again?"

"Zip it," Jayne ordered. "My truck, my tunes."

"I call bullshit!"

"You can pick the music after we cross the state line," Jayne allowed. "But there will be restrictions on your choices."

"Such a pain in the ass."

Jayne smirked and returned her focus to the road. Just ahead of them, Dean's Impala zipped down the highway, taking the curves just a little too fast, rumbling away as though it had never been involved in a collision with a semi-truck.

"Impala looks good," she observed.

"Dean looks better," Lynn returned idly.

Jayne frowned. "What does that mean?"

Lynn gave her a weird look. "It means I haven't seen him smile this much in weeks. It's a nice change. What did you think it meant?"

Quickly, Jayne focused her eyes on the road and changed the subject. "Nothing. Run this case by me again?"

The case had been suggested by Sam, back when they were still gathered in Bobby Singer's house. A possible satanic cult in Red Lodge, Montana, which explained why they were all driving over seven hundred miles from the Singer Salvage Yard. Dean had just been putting the finishing touches on his newly rebuilt car when Sam had found the case online, and he'd jumped at the chance for a hunt. The rest of them had gone along with him, because to be honest? Dean hadn't looked so excited about something in a seriously long time.

"It started out as cattle mutilations on local farms," Lynn said, pulling some print-outs from her purse. "They lost dozens of cows. And then whatever was mutilating livestock started in on people. Two residents were recently decapitated."

"Ok, so… what are we thinking here?"

"I don't know… Sam was pretty keen on this all being ritual stuff. You know, like a satanic cult…"

Jayne made a face at the Impala's back bumper. "So… creepy people messing with other people. Don't get me wrong – totally think they should be stopped, but… wouldn't this be more _Criminal Minds_ than _X-Files_? Maybe we should leave it to the cops."

"And take Dean's case away from him?" Lynn retorted. "He'll put his fist through a wall or something."

Jayne's grip on the steering wheel tightened. She wouldn't put it past the man to start punching walls. She'd seen the damage one conversation with his brother could do. Say the wrong word, and he'd beat the shit out of his beloved Impala. It was making the whole 'working together as a team' shtick super difficult. Neither she nor Lynn was equipped to be skirting around big issues and mincing words.

To be honest, Jayne wasn't sure what she was equipped to do with Dean. Just over a week ago she'd spent the night curled into his side, trying to ignore the stench of whiskey, until sleep had finally claimed her. When she'd woken up, he'd been gone, and she could hear the sound of puking in the nearby bathroom.

They hadn't spoken about it since.

That was not the point, however. The point was that chasing down a cult full of crazies was not the sort of hunting the four of them usually did. "Just saying," Jayne murmured. "We don't usually hunt people."

"Yeah, but these are people involved in Satanic ritual," Lynn pointed out. "And you know what that means?"

"We should be on the lookout for a large, red man-beast?"

"Don't be an ass. Where there's Satanists, there could be demons – or at the very least, witches."

"You and your witches."

There was a long silence in the cab of the truck. Jayne glanced at Lynn out of the corner of her eye. Her stepsister was chewing her bottom lip and staring straight out the windshield. "Hey," Jayne said. "Don't get all sad and reflective on me. I didn't mean anything by it."

"I know," Lynn replied quickly. "I just… look, let's just work the case, all right? People or demons or whatever… I kind of think Dean needs this."

Really, that was just Lynn's way of saying that _Lynn_ might need this case. Jayne wished they could have found something on Lynn's mother way back in Brooklyn, all those weeks ago. The girl needed a little closure, she was starting to realize. The last thing she wanted was Lynn turning into a specialist hunter – the kind that only went after certain things. Daniel Elkins had been one of those hunters – always seeking out vampires. If Lynn turned into the sort of hunter that was always seeking out witches…

Well, that would be really messed-up, and it would involve a sick cycle of self-loathing that Jayne did not want to see surface in her little sister.

"All right," she said, taking a deep breath and pressing down a little harder on the gas. "Let's go stop Satan."

* * *

><p>Sam ducked out of the supply closet in the Candler County Hospital, looking up and down the fluorescently lit hallway for passing employees. Dean stepped out right behind him, straightening the lapels of his stolen white jacket. Sam gave his coat a final tug too, hoping they were somehow blending in.<p>

It had barely been an hour ago when they'd pulled into Red Lodge, Montana. Jayne and Lynn had headed to the police station to squeeze a little more information out of the local sheriff, while Sam and Dean had driven to the county morgue to take a look at the latest victim. Jayne had seemed less than enthused about the possibility of hunting Satanists – something about them being law enforcement's responsibility – but she'd kept her mouth shut (mostly) and headed off to do her job.

He suspected her grumpy acquiescence to the job had something to do with Dean's excitement about finally being on a hunt – that, and his newly restored car. Sam stuffed his hands in the pockets of his stolen lab coat, walking alongside Dean down the squeaky, gray linoleum hall, trying not to make eye contact with the hospital workers. Dean leaned in closer to him, wrestling with his tie. "Did you hear from Lynn or Jayne?"

"Their meeting with the sheriff did not go well," Sam muttered under his breath, glancing around for signs indicating they were nearing the morgue. "They don't know anything new. Apparently, they got kicked out of his office."

Dean chuckled. "Good times."

Sam rolled his eyes, and then caught sight of a small black sign pinned to the whitewashed, cinderblock wall. "Morgue's that way," he announced, and then headed towards the stairwell.

The two of them navigated the steps down into the basement, and then headed down the long corridor to the morgue. Sam stood watch beside the door as Dean tampered with the high-tech lock, and then the two of them slid into the entrance.

A young, scrawny guy sat at a desk in the corner, and he looked up in surprise at the two men who entered the morgue. Sam froze by the door, not expecting them to have company. Dean glanced at the kid's ID.

"John," Dean said.

"Jeff," the kid corrected him.

"Jeff," Dean agreed, with a loud, unconvincing chuckle. "I knew that. Uh… Dr. Dorkin needs to see you in his office right away."

Jeff frowned. "But Dr. Dorkin's on vacation."

"Well, he's back," Dean retorted. "And he's pissed, and he's screaming for you, man, so if I were you…"

Dean didn't have to finish his sentence. The kid's eyes went wide, and he tore out of the room. Sam watched him go, and then gently shut the door behind him.

"Hey, those Satanists in Florida," Dean said once the door was shut. "They marked their victims, didn't they?"

Sam nodded, following his brother towards the metal drawers on the other side of the room. "Yeah, reverse pentangle on the forehead."

He passed Dean on the way to the drawers, snatching a pair of latex gloves from his brother's hand. Dean snorted. "So much effed up crap happens in Florida."

Sam opened the drawer and slid out the long metal roller. The body rolled out legs first, a large box between the pale, mottled ankles. He crinkled his nose, looking down at the victim, Christina Flannigan's headless body. "All right," Dean announced, pulling on his own pair of latex gloves. "Open it."

He frowned at his brother. "You open it."

"Wuss."

Sam gawked at Dean, watching him lift the box from the tray and head over to a nearby table. He followed close behind. Dean put the box down and flipped the top. Both brothers made a face at the head staring back at them, her eyes wide open and her lips parted. "Well," Dean said. "No pentagram."

"Poor girl," Sam murmured, staring at the head. It was truly a horrible way to die.

"Maybe we should check inside her mouth," Dean suggested. "See if those wackos stuffed anything down her throat, like the moth in_ Silence of the Lambs_."

"Yeah, go ahead," Sam returned, sliding the plastic bin towards his brother.

"No, you go ahead."

"What?"

"You know… put the lotion in the basket…"

Sam snorted. "Right, yeah, I'm the wuss, huh?"

Dean shrugged. Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said. As quickly as possible, he separated the lips on the girl's head, sliding his gloved fingers into her mouth and feeling around her stiff jaws. He grimaced. "Dean, get me a bucket."

"Why, you find something?"

"No, I'm going to puke."

Dean rolled his eyes, and then leaned over the plastic tub, squinting at the poor girl's head. Sam made another face, finally having had enough. He withdrew his fingers, shaking his hands.

"Wait, lift her lip up again," Dean ordered.

"What?" Sam exclaimed. "You _want_ me to throw up, is that it?"

"No, no, no! I thought I saw something."

Sam gawked incredulously at the back of his brother's head. Dean lifted the girl's lip again and squinted at her teeth. Sam grimaced, peering reluctantly into her mouth. He raised his eyebrows. There, above her teeth, was an odd pattern in her gums.

"What is that?" Dean asked. "A hole?"

As Sam watched, Dean pressed his white gloved finger against the girl's gums. Immediately, a small, sharp white tooth poked out of the tiny hole.

"It's a tooth," he observed.

Dean disagreed. "Sam, that's a fang."

Sam breathed a disbelieving huff of air. Dean took his hands away from the vampire head lying in the plastic tub. "Retractable set of vampire fangs," he said, shaking his head. "You've got to be kidding me."

"This changes things," Sam murmured. Instantly, the entire case was turned on its head – the poor murdered girl was now a dead vampire. His brother looked at him, his expression incredulous.

"You think?" Dean retorted.

They were no longer dealing with Satanists, Sam concluded, still frowning down at the vampire head. Now the hunt had changed focus considerably – the victims were actually monsters, and the cows…. well, who the hell knew how the cows fit into the equation? More importantly, who had killed these two vampires?

As far as Sam could tell, the same concerns were not troubling his older brother. Dean looked all too pleased as they ducked out of the morgue and headed for the exit, jabbering about how awesome this hunt was going to be.

Sam wasn't sure he agreed.

* * *

><p>Lynn glanced nervously over her shoulder as she followed the other three hunters inside the local hole-in-the-wall bar. It was after dark, and the small biker joint was crowded, dimly lit, and filled with cigarette smoke. Bluesy rock music played too loud on the aged jukebox in the corner. Heads turned their way as they crossed the room and headed for the bar. Lynn might have been uncomfortable, but the looks didn't last. The patrons lost interest in them quickly.<p>

It was an odd hunt – that was for sure. What had started out as a pile of dead cows and two headless corpses had turned into two dead vampires and a hunt for the rest of their nest. It had been a few hours since Sam and Dean had left the morgue and met up with Lynn and her sister to give them the news, but she was still a little confused about the whole thing. What was with the dead cows? Who had killed the vampires? No one had any answers, and Lynn wasn't sure anyone else cared enough to find some.

The bartender was a man in his late twenties, early thirties, with closely cropped brown hair and a full beard. He wore a denim button down over his black concert tee, and he didn't seem too excited about the prospect of new customers. The four hunters approached the bar anyway, not letting his scowl discourage them.

"Hey," Dean greeted the man. "How's it going?"

"Living the dream," the bartender retorted. "What can I get for you?"

"Four beers," Dean replied.

The bartender ducked beneath the bar and grabbed the drinks. Lynn perched herself on the edge of one of the barstools. Jayne took up leaning space against the counter next to her, surveying the patrons behind them, as Dean and Sam stood on Lynn's other side, zeroing in on the bartender.

"So, we're looking for some people," Sam said.

"Sure," the bartender drawled. "It's tough to be lonely."

This guy was going to be about zero help – Lynn could see that right off the bat. Sam glanced down the bar at the other three hunters as the bartender set their drinks out on the counter. Lynn raised an eyebrow at him, and Sam reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a fifty dollar bill.

"Yeah," he agreed with the bartender's sentiment, unfolding the bill and laying it down on the counter. "But that's not what I meant."

The man stared at him a moment, and then stared at the fifty. He snatched the bill from the counter and folded it into his shirt pocket.

"All right," Sam murmured. "They would have moved here about six months ago, real rowdy… like to drink."

"Real night owls," Dean added, taking a swig from his beer. "Sleep all day, party all night."

Jayne reached behind her and took hold of her beer. Lynn watched her take a gulp from the bottle, her eyes still roving the bar. Lynn frowned and poked her, trying to get her attention, but Jayne ignored her.

"Parker farm got leased out a couple months ago," the bartender replied. "Real winners. Been in here a lot. Drinkers. Noisy. I've eighty-sixed them once or twice."

Lynn took a gulp from her beer, and glanced at the two brothers. Dean nodded at the bartender and took another drink. "Thanks," he said.

The two of them turned away from the bar and headed for the door. Jayne pushed herself off the counter, and Lynn hopped down from her barstool. Her sister took a few quick steps, inserting herself in the middle of the other three. "We've got company," she told them.

"What are you talking about?" Lynn asked quietly.

"One man, sitting at the window, two 'o'clock." Lynn immediately looked in the direction her sister had mentioned. "Already gone," Jayne said. "Ducked outside 'bout thirty seconds ago."

"He was watching us?"Dean asked in a low voice.

Jayne nodded once. "Yep. Probably looking to tail us next."

"Was he one of them?" Sam whispered.

Jayne shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. No real way to tell."

Lynn shivered. Dean swung open the door to the bar and held it for the other three. They stepped out into the night air. A slight, misting rain had started to fall while they were inside. Lynn didn't notice the moisture much, sticking close to her sister and swallowing down her serious discomfort. It wasn't vampires that scared her, exactly. Vampires were no real big deal, if she was being honest – especially if it was just one, out in the open like this. But vampires reminded her of almost losing her sister, and that little reminder tended to freak her out.

She had a sudden urge to link her arm with Jayne's, but resisted the impulse. Her sister would think she'd lost her mind. Instead she hovered by Jayne's shoulder as they navigated the alley behind the rundown old bar, headed towards the lot where they'd left their cars. She _knew_ whoever this man was that Jayne had spotted in the bar was following them. His footsteps, quiet as they were, still sounded out behind them. She could just pick out the faint, acrid smell of cigar smoke. More than that, she could feel the sensation of eyes on the back of her neck – could feel his presence looming behind her.

It had been a while since she had felt this sensation. For a few days after an ill-fated trip to Brooklyn, in which the four hunters had failed to unearth any information about Lynn's late mother, she had felt this same unsettling sensation. She had been convinced someone was watching her, but she'd told no one. It had sounded crazy even to _her_ ears. Eventually the feeling subsided, and she had stopped looking over her shoulder. She had chalked it all up to paranoia.

This was real. It wasn't particularly terrifying, but it was definitely real, and it was bringing back all sorts of feelings Lynn had thought she'd forgotten.

They rounded the corner of the alley and traveled along the sidewalk, between the brick wall of the tavern and the high cement wall between them and the raised parking lot. Once they'd reached the four steps leading up to the lot where Janis and the Impala sat, they hunkered down around the alley and behind the cars, waiting for the man to appear.

Lynn heaved a sigh, her back against the front wheel of Jayne's truck. Jayne was beside her, kneeling on the blacktop, peering over the edge of her side-mirror. The Winchesters had chosen to hide closer to the alleyway.

She'd barely been hidden for a minute before Jayne cocked an eyebrow and jerked her chin towards the alley. "There's our man," she announced.

Lynn got up on her knees and peered over the hood of the truck. Sure enough, there was a man creeping down the alleyway. He was older than them – probably in his forties – and wearing a flannel shirt under a thick tan coat. He had dark skin and black hair cropped close to his head. His goatee was neatly kept, and he moved with practiced stealth.

Dean popped his head up from his hiding place and gave them a silent signal. The man looked confused, trying to figure out where they were. They waited until he had turned back the way he came, and then they jumped out from their hiding places.

By the time the man had whirled around to see who was approaching him, Dean and Sam had him pinned to the brick wall. "Smile," Dean ordered.

"What?" the man retorted.

"Show us those pearly whites."

Considering his circumstances, the man against the wall seemed relatively calm. Lynn stood back by the metal railing that reached far above her head, frowning critically at the scene. Sam and Dean were restraining him, Dean holding his machete to the man's throat. Jayne stood nearby, and Lynn saw something glint behind her back. Her sister had a blade out too, she concluded, and was ready to strike. Lynn held her ground, folding her arms over her chest and waiting.

The man rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of… you want to stick that thing someplace else? I'm not a vampire."

Lynn raised an eyebrow. Sam and Dean exchanged frowns, and Jayne took a step closer, bringing her machete out from behind her back. Their captive caught sight of the new blade and his eyes widened. "You know, if I had a dollar for every time something I was hunting claimed to not be what I was hunting," Jayne drawled. "Then I wouldn't need to run anymore credit card scams."

"Whoa," the man said, trying to sound calm. "Easy. I swear, I'm not. I overheard you guys in there."

"What do you know about vampires?" Sam demanded.

"How to kill them," the man retorted. "Now seriously, bro. That knife is making me itch."

Lynn was immediately put ill at ease by the way the man spoke. His eyes widened aggressively, and the low, slow tone of his voice suggested his "itch" had less to do with the position of the knife, and more to do with an urge to knock it from Dean's hands.

Dean didn't falter though. He stared evenly at the other man, his knife not once wavering from its place at the man's neck. The man rolled his eyes again and lifted his arm.

"Hey!" Sam barked, blocking him.

"Easy there, Chachi," the man returned. Slowly, he lifted his hand again. This time, Sam let him. He lifted his upper lip to reveal his gums. Lynn frowned, taking a few steps closer to get a better look. His gums were smooth and pink, with no signs of holes or fangs. "Happy?"

Both Sam and Dean backed off, Dean lowering his knife. The man on the wall straightened, eyeing them all warily. Lynn came up beside her stepsister, who was keeping her blade down by her thigh, but still holding it like she was prepared to swing. "Now," the man said, surveying the four hunters with a frown. "Who the hell are you?"

"Better question," Lynn spoke up. "Who the hell are _you_?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. She couldn't help the animosity in her voice. Something about this guy had put her on edge. He might not be a vampire – hell, he might be a fellow hunter – but that was no reason to trust him.

It was strange, because Lynn was usually pretty good about giving people the benefit of the doubt. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about the man seemed off.

"Gordon Walker," he introduced himself. "Hunter. Yourselves?"

"I'm Dean Winchester," Dean grunted. "My brother Sam. Jayne Gibson – the one still holding the blade. Her stepsister, Lynn Juarez."

He made a quick hand-waving motion at Jayne, obviously meaning to indicate she should put away the machete. Jayne glowered at him sideways and didn't take the hint.

"Huh," Gordon murmured. "Winchester? Juarez?"

It was starting to grate on Lynn's nerves, the way every Tom, Dick and Harry they stumbled upon knew their last names. Gordon began to wander away, down the alley and up the steps to where they'd left the truck and the Impala. Parked on the other side of the lot was a shiny, cherry-red El Camino, and Gordon was headed straight for it.

They followed him towards the car. "So you're a hunter?" Dean asked, as they reached the El Camino.

Gordon nodded, swinging open the driver side door. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Sam and Dean Winchester. I can't believe it. You know, I met your old man once? Hell of a guy. Great hunter."

He pulled out a long metal grate connected on rollers behind the driver's seat. Lynn's eyes widened as she took in the assortment of weapons hanging on the grate. Gordon looked her way. "You know, I met your father once too? Russ Juarez? Long time ago, back when I was starting out. He gave me a few tips. Another amazing hunter. Not a big talker, though."

Lynn forced out a smile, but Jayne didn't even try. Her sister narrowed her eyes suspiciously and said nothing. "I heard John passed recently," Gordon added. "I'm sorry. It's big shoes, but from what I hear, you guys fill them. Great trackers, good in a tight spot…"

"You seem to know a lot about our families," Dean observed, frowning. He looked as suspicious as Lynn felt.

"Well, word travels fast. You know how hunters talk."

The thing was Lynn _didn't _know how hunters talked. She and Jayne and their brother had grown up with plenty of hunter contacts – the Hannigans, a few old friends of her father, and now the Winchesters – but she had never really been in the hunter's circle, meeting new hunters in shady hunter bars and talking about past hunts and how awesome this legendary hunter she'd just met was. Jayne too had never known that sort of life, and it was quickly becoming apparent that Sam and Dean didn't know anything about it either.

"No, we don't, actually," Dean informed the newcomer.

"I guess there's a lot your dad never told you, huh?"

She tensed at his observation, even if it was fairly accurate. Jayne caught her eye, and Lynn could see they were on the same page when it came to this new guy – confused and suspicious. Dean's expression was unreadable, and Sam quickly changed the subject.

"So, those two vampires?" he asked. "They were yours?"

"Yep," Gordon nodded. "Been here two weeks."

"You check out that Parker farm?" Dean wanted to know.

"It's a bust. Just a bunch of hippie freaks. Although, they could kill you with that patchouli smell alone."

Dean frowned. "Where's the nest then?"

Gordon smirked, and tucked the grate where he stored his weapons back inside the El Camino. "I've got this one covered."

Lynn didn't like the sound of that – she didn't like the idea of being kept out of anything. "Look, don't get me wrong," Gordon went on. "It was a real pleasure meeting you all. But I've been on this thing for over a year. I killed a fang back in Austin and tracked the nest all the way up here. I'll finish it."

"We could help," Dean pointed out.

"Thanks," Gordon replied. "But I'm kind of a go-it-alone type of guy."

"Come on, man," Dean insisted. "I've been itching for a hunt."

"Sorry. But, hey, I hear there's a chupacabra two states over. Go ahead and knock yourselves out."

Lynn immediately bristled at that last comment, recognizing a put-down when she heard one. She exchanged another look with her stepsister, and Jayne's expression echoed her own sentiments. Gordon climbed into his car and shut the door. "It was real good meeting you, though," he said through the open window. "I'll buy you a drink on the flip side."

He started the engine and then pulled out of the parking lot, leaving the other four hunters in his exhaust. They stared after him as he drove away. "Well," Jayne announced, shrugging. "That sucks. Let's bail."

Lynn widened her eyes at her sister and bit back a chuckle. "Whoa," Dean returned, frowning. "What are you talking about, let's bail? No one said anything about leaving."

Jayne raised her eyebrow. "Guy said he didn't want our help."

"Doesn't mean he don't need it."

Lynn looked from Dean to her sister. Jayne shrugged again. "So?" she retorted. "How's that our problem? We offered, he said no. We leave."

"Hey, it's not just his case," Dean snapped. "Just because he got here first doesn't mean he can order us off it. We came out here to hunt – I say we hunt."

"Maybe I'm not being clear," Jayne returned. "I don't _want_ to help him. Ok? Can we go?"

Dean scoffed. "No! What's your deal, Goldilocks? The guy hasn't done anything to you."

Jayne sighed. "He just rubs me the wrong way, all right? Are the rest of you honestly going to tell me he wasn't a little… I don't know. Weird?"

"He was totally weird," Lynn spoke up. Everyone stared at her. "Well, he was! What was all that anyway – I'm your father's biggest fan? It was creepy."

"See?" Jayne smirked triumphantly. "Creepy."

Dean didn't look appeased by either of their arguments. Sam frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Honestly, yeah, that was kind of weird," he agreed. "But there's still a nest of vampires here and… I don't know. Dean's right – it's our case too."

There was a long silence. Lynn wasn't sure whose side she was on – she hated the idea of being chased off a hunt, but she didn't particularly relish hunting alongside Gordon Walker either. She agreed with Jayne – maybe he hadn't done anything to them, but there was something strange about the way he'd talked up John, as well as her own father. When it came to dead fathers, Dean and Sam were barely hanging on by a thread. She didn't really want to deal with Gordon Walker and whatever issues he was bound to bring up.

Also, he was a stranger, and while Lynn wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, she found she couldn't. Maybe she was merely unsettled by how much he seemed to know about them all when they knew next to nothing about him. Whatever it was, she didn't quite trust him.

"I say we follow the guy," Dean was saying now. "See where he goes. Maybe he found the nest and he just doesn't want to let us in on it. Come on, you know how badly I was looking forward to this!"

Sam rolled his eyes, and then shrugged. "Yeah, ok. Maybe Gordon could use our help. And… there's a nest of vampires here, so…"

"So we're going to go check it out," Jayne interrupted sourly. "All right, fine."

She headed for the truck. Lynn watched her go, and then glanced at Sam and Dean. "For the record," she began.

"You're not sure you trust Gordon," Dean interrupted. He didn't sound particularly irritated, which was unexpected. "Noted."

Lynn forced out a smile and then walked off after her sister. The two of them climbed into the cab, and waited for the boys to pull out of the parking lot in the Impala. A few minutes later, they were on the road, following the other car in the same direction as Gordon had gone.

"I don't know if I like this hunt," Lynn announced.

"Yeah," Jayne agreed gruffly.

They didn't speak again until they'd caught up with Gordon Walker.

* * *

><p>Surprisingly, it hadn't taken much effort to track down Gordon. Dean had expected the hunt to be more difficult, given the guy's experience level and work-alone mentality. Still, they had stumbled upon the other man's red El Camino fairly quickly, having spotted it as it turned down a secluded, wooded road. Dean had turned after him, taking that same road all the way down to the end, where a rundown factory came into view.<p>

Dean coasted into a spot in the brush, hidden from Gordon's view and watched as the older hunter snuck towards the factory, ducking from shadow to shadow. Jayne's truck coasted into the woods beside him. He shook his head and glanced at Sam, who looked uneasy. "Ready?" he asked.

Sam nodded shortly, but he didn't look any happier. "Dude, what is your deal?" Dean demanded.

His brother sighed. "I don't know, I just… I kind of agree with Jayne and Lynn. Gordon seems a little off."

"We know he's not a vampire," Dean retorted. "We checked."

"I know, but… look, it's not important. Let's just… let's just go in, all right?"

"Sounds good to me."

He stepped out his car and did his best not to slam the door shut behind him. Sam followed suit, and Jayne and Lynn clambered down from their truck. They exchanged nods and grunts, and then headed off in pursuit of Gordon Walker.

It was cool out for midsummer – but then, it was also Montana. The four of them kept to the shadows, ducking in and out of the trees, and then darting across the dirt lot that led to the factory. From there, they had to tiptoe through the varying metal structures and machines littering the outside of the building. Dean led the way, darting quick glances all around them, listening intently for any sign of trouble.

To be honest, Dean wasn't really sure what he felt about the mysterious hunter who'd recognized their names. There was just something in the way he'd spoke about John Winchester – how he'd admired Dean's father, how he'd acknowledged how little John had told his boys about the hunting world. And then, there was the hunt itself – Dean had really been looking forward to this hunt.

He leapt soundlessly onto the metal steps that lead up to the factory. The other four followed him onto the outside deck of the building. Somewhere up ahead of them, Dean heard a crow caw.

The four hunters only made it a few more steps before the sounds of a scuffle broke out nearby. Dean glanced at the other three, and then broke into a run, headed for the source of the noise. He could hear the running footsteps of the others close behind him. They rushed along the exterior of the factory, rounding the corner to find Gordon Walker struggling with a vampire – a tall, pale, heavy-set man wearing a security uniform. Despite the man's otherwise normal appearance, he was hissing and baring his long, sharp fangs. As the four hunters advanced on the fight, the vampire flipped a nearby switch and a large mechanized saw buzzed to life on their right. Dean picked up his speed, rushing towards the two as the vampire landed a few good punches, tossing Gordon down onto the nearby conveyor belt. Just as the vampire was reaching for the saw, the hunters reached the scene. Dean ran at the vampire as Sam grabbed hold of Gordon's legs and pulled him out of harm's way. The thing whirled around, but Dean had already grabbed a nearby tool – something long and heavy, with a sharp, pointed end – and he clocked the vampire in the face. Before he could react, Dean had hit him in the stomach as well, knocking him flat on his back, on top of the belt. Dean lifted the tool above his head and plunged the pointed tip into the vampire's chest, effectively pinning it to the belt.

The vampire let out a roar of pain and frustration. Dean hauled off and slugged the thing, and then he punched the vampire again. As the vampire lay stunned, Dean grabbed hold of the still buzzing saw and yanked it down, cutting cleanly through the screaming vampire's neck.

He very acutely felt the warm splash of blood that flew up from the newly decapitated vampire and splattered across his face. The adrenaline was still pumping through his system, and Dean's hands shook slightly. He looked up at the other four people present.

Gordon laughed. "Well," the other hunter announced. "I guess I have to buy you that drink."

Dean didn't laugh, and neither did anyone else. Sam stared at him, looking utterly appalled. He didn't know what had upset his brother – the way he'd killed the vampire or the blood on his face, or what. Still, Sam stared at him, and Dean stared back, not even bothering to wipe the blood away. Lynn was standing beside Sam, but she didn't look particularly bothered. She took in the dead vampire, shot a dirty look at Gordon when he laughed, and then frowned a moment at Dean, before gesturing at him to wipe his face, as though she thought he simply didn't know he was covered in blood.

He did as commanded, keeping up the charade. Dean pulled a handkerchief from his coat and wiped his face and collar. He looked away from the small group that had been staring at him, his eyes settling on Jayne. She was leaning on the wall, frowning, her machete hanging loosely from her hand. The appalled, concerned look present on Sam's face was not on hers. She didn't look like she felt anything – it was as though she were studying him.

It was Gordon who started cleaning up the vampire's mess. He announced that he had a good spot in mind to dump the body. That snapped them all back into action. The five hunters set about disposing of the body, and Gordon promised again that once they got back into town, he was going to buy them all a drink.

Dean smirked, agreed to the plan, and then threw himself into joking banter with the new hunter. It was easier than acknowledging the way his brother had looked at him. It was easier than trying to _think_.

It was just easier, period.

* * *

><p>Jayne leaned back in her chair, her fingertips lingering on the cold surface of her beer glass. She sat around a worn wooden table with the other four hunters – Dean, Sam, Lynn and Gordon Walker. They were back in the bar where they'd first picked up Gordon, sitting in the dim light under a cloud of smoke, listening to bluesy rock music on the jukebox. Gordon had insisted on paying the tab, and now he was handing a wad of bills to the skinny blonde waitress in the short denim skirt. Dean thanked him, smirking and chuckling and acting like the new hunter was his new best friend.<p>

As Dean's old best friend, his behavior was definitely pissing her off. Jayne frowned across the table at Gordon, taking a long swig from her beer. She didn't like him, she decided. She didn't know why – hell, she didn't need a reason. To be frank, Jayne rarely liked anybody. But that didn't change the unsettling feeling that Gordon Walker gave her.

Gordon lifted his shot glass from the table and held it high. The other hunters moved to clink their shot glasses against his. "Another one bites the dust," Gordon toasted.

"That's right," Dean agreed.

Jayne raised her eyebrow at both of them and then threw back the shot, wincing as the liquor burned its way down her throat. Gordon swallowed and slammed his glass back down on the table, emitting a deep, throaty chuckle. "Dean," he announced. "You gave that big ass fang one hell of a haircut, my friend."

"Thank you," Dean returned.

"That was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."

Sam looked like he was sucking on a lemon. Jayne surveyed him over the rim of her beer glass. Sam was glowering at both Gordon and Dean with judgment on his face. Lynn looked distinctly uncomfortable, fidgeting in her chair, her eyes darting between the other four hunters.

Dean took a drink of beer and glanced at his brother. "You all right, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam replied in his absolute _best_ 'I'm being a little bitch' voice.

"Well, lighten up a little, Sammy," Gordon added.

Automatically Jayne winced at the newcomer's mistake. Sam leveled him with another bitch face, jerking his head in Dean's direction. "He's the only one who gets to call me that."

"Ok," Gordon backtracked. "No offense meant. Just celebrating a little. Job well done."

"Right," Sam retorted. "Well, uh… decapitations aren't my idea of a good time, I guess."

"Yeah," Jayne grunted, in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood. "Sam's more the 'pray to the spirit of the animal after you slaughter it' type."

Sam glared at her this time. She gave him a tiny smirk out of the corner of her mouth. "Thanks, Jayne," he said dryly. "Really."

She widened her eyes innocently, shrugging, the smirk still playing around her lips. "Come on, man," Gordon interjected. "It's not like it was human. You got to have a little more fun with your job."

Dean snapped his fingers and then pointed at Gordon. "See? That's what I've been trying to tell him," he smirked. "You could learn a thing or two from this guy."

Jayne raised her eyebrow again and made eye contact with her sister. Lynn bit her lower lip and offered her a small, barely detectable shrug.

"Yeah," Sam returned sarcastically. "I bet I could. Look, I'm not going to bring you guys down. I'm just going to go back to the motel."

Jayne watched him stand up with a feeling of ill ease. Dean grimaced, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll come," Lynn volunteered too quickly, nearly rocketing out of her seat.

"You too, huh?" Dean returned, looking thoroughly frustrated at the both of them.

"Yeah, I… well, job well done and all that. I just… I guess I'm not really feeling it tonight. That's all. You guys have fun."

Jayne nearly laughed at her sister's response. Somehow she'd succeeded in coming off genuine and tactful – and while Gordon looked put-at-ease, she could tell Dean didn't buy it for a hot second.

"Good night, then," Gordon nodded at the two of them.

"Later," Jayne offered, lifting her beer in their direction.

Lynn looked surprised that she wasn't coming too. Honestly, Jayne wasn't sure why she was staying – she didn't entirely like Gordon, although she wasn't sure why. Maybe that was why she was staying. After all, leaving Dean alone with this guy… Jayne couldn't make herself do it.

"Yeah," Dean added gruffly as Lynn and Sam began heading towards the door. "Night."

Jayne dug the truck keys out of her jeans and pressed them into Lynn's hand as she passed on by. Lynn gave her a grateful smile, and Jayne nodded back reassuringly, trying to convey that while she was staying, she was still on Sam and Lynn's side – which felt odd, in all honesty. Too often she found herself agreeing with Dean.

Not this time.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean called, stopping the two exiting hunters in their tracks. Sam turned around at the sound of his name. "Remind me to beat the buzz kill out of you later."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned his back on the rest of them. Jayne watched Sam and Lynn leave, and then refocused her attention on the two hunters remaining at the table. Dean shook his head, reaching for his beer again. "Something I said?" Gordon asked, watching Sam leave with wide eyes.

"Nah, he just gets that way sometimes," Dean excused his brother.

"I don't know," Jayne returned, talking into her beer. "Seemed to me like Sam just felt celebrating a death was disrespectful. That's all."

She regretted opening her mouth, because she didn't really agree with Sam's viewpoint. The vampire was a human once upon a time – a long time ago – but it was a monster now, feeding on innocent people. She didn't feel bad about killing the thing, and she didn't object to taking in a celebratory drink.

But she didn't entirely like Gordon – and she didn't entirely like Dean at the moment either.

Dean eyed her over his drink. "Don't tell me you're going to pull that moral high ground bull on me too, Goldilocks."

She met his eyes across the table. His look was penetrating, boring holes into her eyes, waiting for her to hand him some angry retort. But Dean would be disappointed.

"Nope," she shrugged, not taking her eyes away from his. "No moral high ground here."

After all, their _real _problem had very little to do with morality.

Gordon was starting to look a little uncomfortable. Dean must have sensed it because he changed the subject immediately, lifting his shot glass off the table and pointing it towards the other two. "I'll tell you what," he announced, addressing both Gordon and Jayne. "I'll match you quarters for the next round."

Gordon smirked. "I'll take that."

Jayne shrugged again, sipping on her beer and settling back in her chair. Dean set the shot glass down with a loud _clunk!_ She watched him with hard eyes as he fished a handful of change from his pocket.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>The motel they were all staying at had a very badly lit parking lot, Lynn decided as she walked up to the plain white metal door that led into her motel room. It was dark in the lot, and the harsh red light from the neon cactus signs only made it worse. Sam was at his door, barely ten feet to her left. She snuck a look at him out of the corner of her eye as she fiddled with the lock. He pushed open his door, shot a smile in her direction, and then disappeared inside without a word.<p>

Lynn watched the door shut behind him and then stepped into her motel room. It was as poorly lit as the parking lot, and there were cacti everywhere. Heaving a sigh, she dropped her coat and her keys on the nearby table and moved further into the room, flopping down on one of the two queen beds.

The old, lumpy mattress sunk beneath her weight. She rubbed her forehead and frowned at the cracked white ceiling. Everything felt weird now that Gordon had shown up. Lynn blamed Dean. After all, he'd thrown himself into the hunt right alongside the newcomer, no questions asked, while the rest of them had wanted to take a moment to consider whether or not the new hunter could be trusted.

They knew nothing about him. Lynn sighed again, and then hauled herself into a sitting position, digging her cell phone out her jeans. She scrolled down through the contacts list, and hit dial when she reached her little brother's name.

Stephen answered on the second ring. "Hey, Lynn. What's happening?"

She smiled slightly, adjusting the pillows on her bed and leaning back against them. "Hey, Steve. You all right? You know, wherever you are, doing whatever it is you do?"

"Starting out so snarky already? That's a bad omen."

His tone was joking, and Lynn could picture him smirking into the phone, behind his goatee, probably running his hand over his smooth, shaven head. She smiled at the thought and shook her head, although he wouldn't be able to see it. "I'm just giving you a hard time. Answer the question, though; you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just wrapped up a run-of-the-mill ghost hunt. You?"

"Yeah, we're all fine. I mean… as fine as we can be."

"As fine as you can be? Well, I'm convinced."

Lynn chuckled into the phone, poking at a loose stitch on the comforter. "It's just… a lot of… a lot of issues, you know?"

"What, your Winchesters and their dead Daddy drama?"

"Hey," she snapped at him. "Don't be rude."

She heard him exhale harshly into the phone. "Sorry."

There was a moment of silence. "How's Jaynie?" Steve asked. "I haven't spoken to her for awhile."

Lynn frowned at the bedspread. "She's… ok. Just… I don't know. Maybe too involved in… in the…"

"Winchester dead Daddy drama?"

"Quit talking about it like that. It's disrespectful."

"But I'm right. That's her deal, isn't it?"

Lynn didn't say anything. Steve groaned into the phone. "Look, I don't want to talk shit about your new best friends, but…"

"Do you know a hunter named Gordon Walker?" Lynn asked abruptly, cutting him off.

There was a brief pause, and then Steve laughed. "Oh, I see. You're not really calling to check in on your little brother, are you? It's all about pumping me for info."

Lynn rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a bad sister. Do you know the name or not?"

"Sorry, never heard of him. Why? You working with him or something?"

"Or something," Lynn grumbled. "I don't know exactly. We're hunting vampires in Montana, and we ran into him. At first he was all like 'I'm a man; I hunt alone; blah, blah, blah.' But then we saved his ass, so…"

"The ass saving changed his tune?"

"Pretty much. But… well, he took us out for a drink, and… he's been acting real buddy-buddy with Dean, you know? But I'm just like… who the hell are you, anyway? We don't know you!"

She could hear her brother choking back a chuckle. "Right. Sure."

Lynn sighed. "I just… I'd feel better if I knew a little something about him. I mean, he knows enough about us – he's met Dad, he's met John Winchester, he practically hero-worships them both… do you know there's a whole network of hunters out there, who are quite possibly talking about our entire family?"

"Well, Lynn… I mean… what did you think Rufus's pub was?"

She fell silent at that. Well, he had her there.

"Say, that's an idea," Steve went on. "Call up Rufus. I'll bet he knows a thing or two about this guy."

And he had her again. Lynn pouted at the mattress and then rolled over onto her back. "Yeah," she murmured. "Yeah, you're right. I'll give him a call."

"I know I'm right," Steve retorted. "So, besides this weirdo hunter guy, is everything else going all right?"

It was tricky question, and Lynn didn't really have an answer to it. A lot of things had been left unresolved – the yellow-eyed demon, Steve and Sam's abilities, her mother's mysterious death. And then there was John. His death seemed to hang over all of them, all the time – it seemed to color everything they did.

"We're fine," she told her brother. "You stay safe, ok?"

"I will. Back at you."

"Call me."

"Yeah, yeah."

She giggled and then hung up the phone. Shaking her head, her smile fading, she frowned down at the display on her cell, shifting positions on the bed. Then she dialed the number for Hannigan's pub.

It was Deedee who answered, her voice ringing falsely bright through the phone. "Hannigan's Pub, how can I help you?"

"Hey, Deedee, it's Lynn."

"Hi! Where are you guys? Is everything ok?"

"Um… well, we're in Montana, hunting some vampires…"

"Vampires? Yuck."

"Yeah, yuck. Is your Dad around? I have a question about a hunter we're working with."

"Oh, sure. Hold on."

She heard Deedee set the phone down on the counter. In the background was the sound of the tavern – old rock and roll playing too loud, the assorted bikers and hunters who frequented the place talking and shouting, the _clink_ of beer bottles and shot glasses…

"Lynn," Rufus's gruff voice grunted into the phone. "What do you need?"

"Hey, Rufus," she replied sheepishly. "Uh… how are you?"

"Everything's fine here," Rufus returned knowingly. "Now, what is it you want to know?"

Lynn breathed out harshly into the phone, blowing her hair out of her eyes. "We're hunting vampires in Montana."

"And?"

"We ran into a hunter named Gordon Walker."

There was a brief moment of silence. "Rufus?" Lynn asked, frowning. "You know him?"

"He's passed on through a few times," Rufus replied carefully. "You ain't working with him, are you?"

Lynn sat up straight on the bed. "Why? What if I was?"

Rufus was quiet another moment, and she could almost see him mulling over his words, choosing each syllable carefully. "Well… he's a fine hunter, don't get me wrong… but he ain't the sort who works well with others, if you get my meaning."

She frowned again. "Why doesn't he work well with others?"

"I'm just saying… if it comes down to you or the vamp… I just don't know if I'd trust that man to have my back."

Lynn chewed her bottom lip, still frowning as she mulled over Rufus's statement. Rufus cleared his throat on the other end of the line. "If you're thinking about working with him," the older hunter went on. "Don't."

"Ok," she murmured quietly. "Um… thanks."

"Any time," Rufus replied. "You all stay safe out there."

"Yes sir."

"G'bye, Lynn."

"Talk to you later, Rufus."

He hung up the phone with a heavy click. Lynn listened to the following silence for several seconds before finally hanging up and flopping back down on the bed.

Mere seconds later, there was a knock on the door. Lynn lifted her head slightly, glaring at the door. The knock came again. "Lynn?" Sam's voice called, muffled through the metal door. "It's Sam."

At the sound of the younger Winchester's voice, Lynn heaved another sigh and hauled herself off the bed. She trudged over to the door and swung it open, raising her eyebrow at the giant framed in her doorway. "Hey," she greeted him. "What's up?"

He pushed past her into the room. "I called Ellen."

Lynn made an incredulous face at the now empty doorway, shaking her head, and then turned around to level that same incredulous expression at Sam's back. "Come right in!"

"Sorry," he said shortly, before repeating his earlier statement: "I called Ellen."

Lynn let the door fall shut with a loud _thud!_ "So you said."

"I was asking her about Gordon," Sam went on. "You know, because she owns that roadhouse, I just thought she might have met him or something… anyway, she knew him and she told me to stay away from him."

Really, Lynn had nothing against Ellen. She'd been nothing but helpful, and she'd given off no creepy vibes. Did they know her very well? No. Should they take her advice, no questions asked? Probably not.

But Rufus had given similar advice, and so Lynn was willing to hand Ellen the benefit of the doubt.

She hadn't replied immediately, however, and Sam pounced on her silence. "She said he's dangerous," he pressed, staring at her with wide eyes. "To everything and everyone around him."

Lynn swallowed. Sam kept staring at her. Finally, she shrugged. "I called Rufus," she told Sam. "He said the same thing."

Sam blinked. "Right," he murmured. "Ok, so if two different people say the exact same thing about Gordon, then… we should stay away from Gordon."

"Yeah," Lynn said, exhaling heavily. "That would make the most sense."

There was a pause. "So… we need to tell Dean and Jayne," Sam decided after a moment.

Lynn nodded her agreement.

"I mean, they're with him right now," Sam went on. "We should call them – got get them or something…

"I don't think that's necessary," Lynn interrupted. "We'll just tell them when they get back."

Sam nodded again. "OK. When they get back."

Again, they fell into a long, tense silence. "I'm going to get a soda," Sam said finally, and then he made a break for the door.

Lynn rolled her eyes. "Sam!" she called.

He stopped in his tracks. "Yeah?"

"Are you ok?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest and fixing him with hard, scrutinizing eyes.

Sam froze at the question. She stared at him as he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Awkwardly, he scratched at the back of his neck. "Um…" he said, shoving one hand in his pocket. "Uh… yeah. I'm fine. I mean… sometimes I am."

Her frown deepened. "Sometimes you are?"

"Yeah… I don't know. I'm fine, ok?"

She didn't entirely believe him, but she let the subject drop. "Ok," she shrugged, relaxing her hard gaze. "You're fine."

Sam nodded, and then made for the door again. Lynn watched him dart out into the parking lot. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

She really wished there was some way to just make this shit-storm end.

* * *

><p>They'd been in the bar maybe a little too long. Dean was still sitting at that worn table in the center of the dark, smoky tavern, directly across from Gordon Walker. Jayne was still sitting on his left, leaning back in her chair, her focus mostly on her drink. They'd had a few, and Dean was starting to feel warm, his head just a little too light. The liquor had loosened his tongue and Gordon's too. He was talking too much.<p>

Jayne wasn't talking at all.

"So I pick up this crossbow," Dean explained to Gordon, giving the older hunter the details on his very first hunt. "And I hit that ugly sucker with a silver tipped arrow, right in its heart."

Gordon chuckled. Jayne looked unimpressed by the bull-shitting he and Gordon were engaged in and rolled her eyes.

"Sammy's waiting in the car," Dean went on. "Me and my Dad take the thing into the woods; burn it to a crisp. I'm sitting there, I'm looking at the fire, and I'm thinking to myself, I'm sixteen years old. Kids my age are worried about pimples and prom dates, and I'm seeing things they'll never even know – never even dream of. So right there, I just sort of…"

"Embraced the life," Gordon finished for him, nodding like he understood.

Dean looked up at him in surprise. "Yeah."

Gordon nodded again, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "Yeah."

Dean stared at him a moment, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable – a little exposed. Gordon glanced at Jayne. "What about you?" he asked. "What was your first hunt?"

Dean looked at Jayne too, because to be honest he was curious. This was the first time she'd heard the story about the werewolf in the woods, and he'd yet to hear the story of her first hunt. Jayne smirked at the table, her fingers tracing lines in the condensation on her beer glass. "Sorry, Walker," she grunted. "But, uh… not real big on that whole trading life stories with complete strangers in a bar trope. At least, not without a lot more to drink."

Gordon looked taken aback, but not in bad way. He was still smiling, eyeing Jayne with appreciation. Dean leaned closer to her, smirking. "Come on, Goldilocks," he said. "Give it up."

Her voice was tight, and she eyed him with irritation. "Pass."

"It's all right," Gordon intervened. "She's got a point – we don't know each other."

Jayne eyed him next, although her expression was blank. Dean looked away from her, not sure how to read her mood. "Well, then," he said, turning back to Gordon and lifting his beer from the table. "How'd you get started?"

Gordon's smile faded. "The first time I saw a vampire, I was barely eighteen. I was home alone with my sister."

Dean watched the other hunter's eyes get distant – his words coming out stilted. "I heard the window break in her room. I grab my Dad's gun, run in, try to get the thing off her… it's too late. So I shoot the damn thing – which is of course about as useful as snapping it with a rubber band. It rushes me, picks me up, flings me across the room – knocks me out cold. When I wake up, the vampires gone… my sister's gone…"

He trailed off, staring at the table. "And then?" Dean prompted him.

"Then… try explaining that one to your family."

Dean nodded slowly, lowering his eyes to the table. Gordon went ahead with his story. So I left home. And then I bummed around looking for information… how you track them, how you kill them… and I found that fang. It was my first kill."

All the bull-shitting was over, and the joking manner of the night was gone. Gordon's face and tone were serious – his eyes were haunted. Dean glanced at Jayne, watching her shift uncomfortably in her seat, sipping her beer. He lifted his beer again, almost like a toast. "I'm sorry about your sister," he said.

Gordon glanced at him, forcing a short smile. "Yeah," he nodded. "She was beautiful. I can still see her, you know? The way she was?"

The other hunter took a long drink from his beer, and then somehow seemed to recover. "But, hey, that was a long time ago. I mean, your dad… it's got to be rough."

"Yeah."

Any other time, Dean would have played avoidance, but here things were different. He was buzzed, and Gordon had shared something personal with him. The other hunter radiated the same attitude Dean clung to, and it was reassuring. Sam wasn't around. Jayne was, but she was Jayne. She knew how well he was handling his dad's death – or not handling it. To be honest, he didn't mind so much, the idea that Jayne would hear him talk about it. He could handle Jayne knowing.

She was staring at him out the corner of her eye. Dean looked down at the table. "Yeah," he said again. "Yeah, you know… he was just one of those guys. Took some terrible beatings. Just kept coming."

Gordon was watching him, his eyes wide and unblinking. Jayne wasn't looking at him at all – she kept her eyes focused determinedly on the table. Dean swallowed, his smirk wavering.

"So you're always thinking to yourself," he went on. "He's indestructible. He'll always be around. Nothing can kill my Dad. And then, just like that," he snapped his fingers. "He's gone."

There was a moment of silence. Gordon stared at the table. Jayne had stopped avoiding his eyes now, and he could feel her eyes on the side of his face. It was his turn to avoid making eye contact with her.

"I can't talk about this with Sammy. Got to keep my game face on. But, uh… the truth is… I'm not handling it very well."

Gordon was still looking down at the table. Jayne was still staring at the side of his face, and Dean was still avoiding her gaze. "I feel like I have this…"

"Hole inside?"

It was Gordon who interrupted him. Finally, the other man looked up from the table and stared Dean straight in the eye. "And it just keeps getting bigger and bigger and darker and darker?"

Dean gawked at the other hunter. Gordon kept right on going. "Good. You can use it. Keeps you hungry. Trust me, there's plenty out there that needs killing, and this will help you do it. Dean, it's not a crime to need your job."

He didn't really know what to say that. For a long moment, Dean simply stared at Gordon, not fully believing the words that were coming out of the other man's mouth. Jayne cleared her throat beside him, running a finger along the rim of her beer glass.

She looked uncomfortable, and Dean couldn't pretend he didn't feel the same. Something about Gordon's words had struck a chord in him – and he wasn't sure he liked what the other hunter was saying. He wasn't sure he liked how much sense the man seemed to make. He wasn't sure what to _do_ with any of it.

"You know why I love this life?"Gordon asked.

Dean looked up from his beer and made a questioning noise in the back of his throat.

"It's all black and white. There's no maybe. Find the bad thing; kill it. Most people spend their lives in shades of gray. Is this right? Is that wrong? Not us."

Dean shrugged, lifting his beer to his mouth. "Not sure Sammy would agree with you, but…"

"Doesn't seem like your brother's much like us," Gordon returned.

Dean stopped mid-drink and stared at the other hunter.

"I'm not saying he's wrong – just different. But you and me? We were born to do this. It's in our blood."

He wanted more than anything to believe that – once upon a time, he did. But Dean hated the idea that Sam was different – he _knew_ Sam was different, but that didn't mean he liked to dwell on it. And maybe Gordon was reaffirming all the things that Dean wanted to hear – but he couldn't help feeling like maybe Gordon was wrong – maybe he didn't feel the same way as the other hunter did, not anymore.

Jayne scoffed under her breath, and took a drink from her beer. "Well," she said out loud. "Look at you two. Couple of peas in a pod."

Gordon looked at her sideways. Dean couldn't bring himself to look at her at all.

"I'll be honest," she announced, lifting her chin and staring Gordon straight in the eye. "I'm not sure I agree with you either. And I like to think I was born to do this too."

No one got a chance to respond to the comment. Jayne drained the rest of her beer, and then slammed the glass down on the table. "Who's ready to kill some vampires?" she asked, getting to her feet.

Gordon seemed to come back to life with that, and drained his beer too. "Count me in," he said with a chuckle.

Dean got up from his chair and followed the other two out of the bar. Once they were outside, back in the cool night air, Gordon climbed into his El Camino, and Jayne walked up ahead of Dean, reaching the Impala before him and waiting for him outside the passenger door.

When the two of them were in the car, and Dean had turned on the engine and shifted into drive, leading the El Camino back to their motel, he glanced at her and asked, "What was that all about?"

"What was what all about?"

"That 'I don't agree with you either,' stuff."

"I don't agree with him."

"You were quiet most of the night," he practically accused her. "And then you went and made that grand statement about being different than Gordon, and yet still born to be a hunter. What were you trying to prove?"

She looked at him archly. "What were _you _trying to prove?"

Dean scoffed, unconvincingly even to his own ears. "Me? Nothing."

"Sure."

He fumed silently, and she said nothing else for a several seconds. Finally, she heaved a sigh and lowered her eyes to her lap. "I don't like him," she said.

"Why?"

"I don't know, exactly. He just puts me off. The things he says… I don't agree with him. I don't like the way he says them."

"You've got to admit he's got a point."

"Oh yeah? And about what exactly? The deep dark hole inside, or how black and white our world is?"

Dean swallowed so hard he felt his Adam's apple bob. "Why is it you can tell him about John and the hole?" Jayne asked quietly. "Why can't you talk to the rest of us?"

He groaned. "Oh, god, kill me now."

"No one's making you keep your game face on."

"You wear a game face for Lynn. For Steve."

She looked out the window, folding her arms over her chest. "Not the same thing."

"Sure it is."

"No, it's not. You want to pretend you're fine for Sam, go ahead. Stop trying to put one over on me. I ain't buying it. You can't act like everything's a-ok, and then tell Gordon about some metaphorical pit in your stomach _right in front of me_, and then… you know. Pretend like everything's a-ok again."

Dean tightened his hands on the wheel. "You want to talk about our feelings now? How about you tell me yours first?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're full of shit, and I'm done talking about this."

There was a long silence. Jayne stared straight out the windshield with her arms still folded over her chest. Dean gnawed the inside of his mouth, eyes on the road, trying to will away his increasing frustration.

"He's wrong, you know."

Jayne's voice rang out just a little too loud in the silence. Dean glanced at her out the corner of his eye. "Wrong about what?" he asked reluctantly.

"Our world being black and white. It's not. It's not black and white at all. It's nothing _but_ shades of gray, every time I turn around. It annoys the _shit_ out of me."

He chuckled low in his throat. Jayne barely smiled back, and then her face returned to its former serious expression. "He's wrong," she said again. "I mean, I think he's wrong. Maybe it's just me – maybe I can't tell the difference anymore, and that's why it's all coming up gray."

Dean felt uncomfortable again, just hearing her admit that – it felt like the bar, it felt like Gordon Walker and his deep dark hole talk.

"It's not black and white," she repeated herself. "I just… please just… just tell me you're not buying that crap he's selling."

She turned to him as she spoke, her eyes fixed on him in a way that made him even more uncomfortable than he was before. Her eyes were wide and pleading and Dean could barely even look at her – definitely couldn't meet her gaze.

He couldn't give her an answer. They'd reached the motel just then, and he wheeled the Impala into a parking space near their rooms. She kept staring at him as he shifted into park and shut down the engine, all the while skillfully avoiding meeting her eyes.

"Dean," she said after he'd been silent much too long.

A second long silence was interrupted quickly by a rap on the driver side window. Seeing Gordon standing out in the parking lot, waiting on them, Dean quickly swung open the car door and got out.

He let the door shut carelessly behind him. Gordon greeted him with a grin, waving some papers at him. "I've got an idea about where to start looking for the nest," he said. "Want to talk about it?"

"Definitely," Dean replied. "We'll use the room I'm sharing with Sammy."

He heard the creak of the passenger door as Jayne opened it and stepped out of the car. He didn't turn around to look at her.

"You in?" Gordon asked her.

"Um… yeah," she murmured slowly.

Dean led the way to his motel room, keys jingling from his hand. He didn't want to think about Gordon, and he didn't want to think about Jayne, or his brother, or his father, or right and wrong or black and white… he didn't want to think, period.

He just wanted to kill some vampires.

* * *

><p>Sam was being paranoid.<p>

He knew that had to be the problem, even as he stood out in the parking lot of the motel under the glow of a red, neon cactus light, picking out a soda from the vending machine, all the while feeling eyes focused on the back of his neck. There was no reason for anyone to be watching him; no reason for something to be lurking in this rundown motel parking lot, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. It was paranoia, pure and simple.

But it didn't seem to matter how many times he told himself that, because the feeling someone was watching him persisted. Sam glanced over his shoulder, looking for any sign that he wasn't alone. Seeing nothing, he hesitantly bent over to retrieve his soda from the machine, straining his ears for the sounds of someone approaching him. He heard nothing.

Soda can in hand, Sam cautiously made his way across the parking lot, back towards his motel room. He passed by Lynn's room, noting the light on in the window, and contemplated knocking on her door.

He nixed that option, feeling a little too much like a scared kid craving company. Instead, he kept on across the parking lot, eyes and ears open.

A twig cracked behind him. Sam froze, his shoulders tensing, and glanced around for the source of the noise.

Nothing. Still, Sam didn't move. He took a moment to open the soda can and sip on his drink, buying time, still searching the area. Finally, having noticed nothing, he hurried onto the wooden patio outside his room, and unlocked his door, ducking inside as quickly as possible.

He immediately felt silly once he was inside and the door was shut, slumping against the metal and shaking his head at himself. Sam walked the rest of the way into the room and set his soda can down on the table.

That's when it pounced.

The man was about the same size as Sam, but incredibly strong. He threw his entire weight into Sam, his arms wrapping around his neck. Sam whirled, reacting quickly enough to avoid the chokehold, and slugged the man in the face. His attacker hit the ground, but Sam heard a noise behind him and turned around to find a second assailant rushing at him.

He punched that man in the face too, and watched him fall to the ground as well. Sam turned to hit the other man again, but it was too late. He saw the outline of the motel room phone seconds before it smashed down into his head.

The heavy blow sent him to his knees, his vision turning black. Seconds later, Sam hit the floor face first and slipped into unconsciousness.


	4. Silent Lucidity

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to BrooklynHiggans63, angeleyenc, AshlynPaige92, ColtFan165, darksnider666, Souless666, 69camaro, SPN Mum, Spelllesswonder29, ThreeMoons3, Nelle07, Aelthar101 and goddess of the nigth for all the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: Silent Lucidity<p>

Sam couldn't see.

They had made sure of that from the beginning. Of course, it hadn't stopped Sam from trying to determine where he was – observing the way the car rocked as it passed over the bridge, just outside of town, or counting the seconds to determine how many minutes they'd driven from the motel.

Now, he was bound to a chair in someone's house, gagged, and still wearing a bag over his head. He couldn't see the room he was in, or the people who were in the room with him. He could hear footsteps on the floor, and heavy breathing, but that was about it.

The footsteps and the breathing came closer and closer, and then suddenly, the bag was off Sam's head. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness. Standing before him was the bartender from earlier. Sam frowned, surprised, as the bartender glared at him. Then the bartender's second set of teeth began to descend, and all Sam's suspicions were confirmed.

The man from the behind the bar was one of the vampires.

He leaned back in the chair as the vampire leaned closer, hissing and panting, and growling low in its throat. Just as Sam was certain he was going to become dinner, a woman's voice sounded from the door.

"Wait," she said. "Step back, Eli."

Eli paused, and then slowly tilted his head back, straightening up and taking a step back. The murderous glower etched on his forehead coupled with his heavy, angered panting, made it clear he was none too happy about following orders. Sam's eyes shifted to the woman in the door. She appeared to be a few years older than him, although there was no real way to tell. Her hair was black and wavy and dusted her shoulders. Her skin was pale, and her expression mostly blank. Sam watched warily as she crossed the room and yanked his gag from his mouth.

"My name's Lenore," she told him. "I'm not going to hurt you. We just need to talk."

Sam scoffed, glancing at Eli, who had retreated to the back of the room and was now pacing like a caged animal. "Talk?" he repeated doubtfully. "Yeah, ok, but I might have a tough time paying attention to anything besides Eli's teeth!"

"He won't hurt you either," Lenore replied. "You have my word."

"Your word?" Sam exclaimed incredulously. "Oh, yeah, great! Thanks. Listen lady, no offense, but you're not the first vampire I've met."

Lenore tilted her chin. "We're not like the others. We don't kill humans, and we don't drink their blood. We haven't for a long time."

"What is this, some kind of joke?"

"Notice you're still alive."

It was a good point, but it wasn't enough to convince Sam. He'd been kidnapped, and tied to a chair, and no matter what Lenore said, he was pretty sure Eli would have no qualms eating him right about now. Besides, her story made no sense.

"OK, correct me if I'm wrong here," Sam retorted. "But shouldn't you be starving to death?"

Lenore glanced at Eli. "We found other ways," she explained. "Cattle blood."

That new piece of information changed things – barely. Sam frowned at her. "You're telling me you're responsible for all the…"

"It's not ideal," Lenore interrupted him, her tone scathing. "In fact, it's disgusting. But it allows us to get by."

"Ok," Sam said again. "Uh… why?"

"Survival," Lenore replied. She folded her arms over her chest and began pacing the room much like Eli. "No deaths, no missing locals, no reason for people like you to come looking for people like us. We blend in."

Sam fidgeted in his chair, still frowning at the two vampires in front of him. It was practically impossible for him to wrap his head around this story – they were _vampires_, after all. He didn't get it. Lenore was still talking.

"Our kind is practically extinct," she went on. "Turns out we weren't quite as high up the food chain as we imagined."

"Why are we explaining ourselves to this killer?" Eli snapped from his darkened corner of the room.

"Eli," Lenore warned him.

"We choke on cow's blood so none of them suffer," the other vampire snarled. "Tonight, they murdered Conrad and they celebrated!"

"Eli," Lenore insisted. "That's enough."

"Yeah, Eli, that's enough," Sam tossed in from his chair.

The other vampire still looked ready to kill. Lenore completely ignored Sam's sidebar. "What's done is done," she said softly, still talking to Eli. Then she turned back to Sam. "We're leaving this town," she told him. "Tonight."

Sam frowned harder at that. "Then why did you bring me here? Why are you even talking to me?"

Lenore sneered. "Believe me, I'd rather not. But I know your kind. Once you have our scent, you'll keep tracking us. It doesn't matter where we go. Hunters will find us."

"So you're asking me not to follow you," Sam concluded.

"We have a right to live," Lenore returned. "We're not hurting anyone."

"Right," Sam said slowly."So you keep saying, but give me one good reason why I should believe you."

The woman narrowed her eyes, and leaned forward in one swift, predatory movement. Sam swallowed, immediately ill at ease, as Lenore hovered in his personal space, her eyes straying to the side of his neck. He looked away from her, trying to lean back further in the chair. "Fine," she growled. "You know what I'm going to do?"

Sam didn't trust himself to answer. Lenore looked up and met his eyes. "I'm going to let you go," she said.

It wasn't what he'd expected to hear. Sam frowned at her, no longer trying to edge away from the vampire. Slowly, Lenore stood up all the way and stepped back from Sam's chair. "Take him back," she ordered Eli. "Not a mark on him."

The words sank in slowly. Sam sat still a moment, trying to understand why she would do such a thing. As he sat there, dumbfounded, Eli cut him loose and yanked the bag back over his head. Sam let himself be dragged out of the house and shoved into Eli's pickup.

No one hurt him – no one even attempted it. Sam began to wonder if maybe Lenore was telling the truth. Even if she wasn't… he began to wonder if the right thing to do was check into the story, and make sure she wasn't.

The last thing Sam wanted to do, after all, was hurt someone who hadn't done anything wrong.

* * *

><p>Lynn sighed heavily, shifting on her bed and staring listlessly at the television across the room. The dreary colored, dimly lit room was making her sleepy, and the lack of good TV was not helping. Still, she had nothing better to do, and so she lounged on the mattress and flipped disinterestedly through the channels. Nothing was catching her attention.<p>

Suddenly, the door swung open. Lynn jumped at the sudden noise, sitting up straight on the bed and whirling to face the door, the remote held threateningly in her hand. At the sight of Jayne poking her blonde head inside the door, she immediately relaxed.

Jayne raised her eyebrow, not bothering to cross the threshold. "Wow," she smirked. "Uh… are you going to… remote me to death?"

Lynn sneered. "Shut up."

Jayne's smile spread. "Have you seen Sam?"

She shrugged. "A little while ago."

"Did he say he was heading out?"

"No."

Jayne shrugged this time. "Ok. Well, we're back and we're talking with Walker in the boys' room. Want to come hunt some vampires? He's sharing where he thinks the nest is."

Lynn frowned, turning off the TV. "You're still working with him?"

"I guess so."

Immediately, Lynn got up on her feet. "Come inside. Shut the door."

Jayne made a face. "Why? What's your deal?"

"Will you just do what I say?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed theatrically, but came into the room and let the door fall shut behind her. Lynn waited until Jayne was safely inside and leaning on the wall. "Sam called Ellen," Lynn began. "He's all upset because she told him Gordon was dangerous, and we shouldn't be working with him."

Jayne scoffed at that, but Lynn could detect uncertainty in her eyes. "Ellen? And we've known her how long?"

"What, you don't like Ellen?"

"I don't like anybody."

"Jayne."

Her sister rolled her eyes again and shrugged. "I don't know, ok? Ellen… she's all right, I guess. Seems like good people. But still – we really don't know her very well."

"You got to admit, she's less creepy than Gordon."

"I _freely_ admit that."

"I called Rufus."

At that, Jayne's interest peaked. "You ask him about Walker?"

Lynn nodded. "He said not to work with the guy."

"He say why?"

"Something about him not having our backs when it counted."

There was a moment of silence. Jayne frowned, mulling over the new information. "All right then," she murmured after a moment. "If Rufus says back out… then I guess we back out."

"Really?"

Jayne raised her eyebrow. "You object?"

"No, I just… expected more of a fight."

"Why?"

"Blind acquiescence to Rufus's will? Come on Jayne, that's not you."

"All I know is that I trust Rufus a hell of a lot more than I trust Gordon Walker. If he says we can't count on him, I believe it. And quite frankly? At this point, I'm looking for any excuse to bail."

Lynn took a step forward, frowning. "Really? Has the night out been that bad?"

Jayne nodded, lifting her eyebrows. "He's crazy, Lynn. Two steps right of fanatical. If I have to hear one more word about how _awesome_ deep dark holes are… let's cut him loose, already. The sooner, the better."

Lynn frowned harder. "Deep dark holes?" she repeated dubiously.

"Never mind. Let's fill in Dean and eighty-six the freak. All right?"

She let it go, shrugging. "All right. I'll meet you over there."

"Sounds good."

Jayne ducked out of the room. Lynn watched the door fall shut behind her, and then sighed, running her hand through her hair. She reached under her mattress and pulled out her gun, tucking it into the waistband of her jeans. Then she grabbed her coat and stepped out into the parking lot.

She was honestly a little worried about what they were going to tell Dean, and how they were going to get out of this hunt. Given how reluctant Gordon had been to accept their help when they'd first offered it, she doubted he'd be too upset that they were going to bail. But Dean might be difficult about their decision to leave.

Dean had been difficult about a lot lately.

"Lynn!"

Sam's voice sounded out behind her in a loud, panicked shout. She whirled around. He came running up to her, breathless and disheveled. "Sam?" she exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

He stopped before her, panting, and ran his hand through his hair. "Uh… I… where are you going?"

She blinked at him. "To your room. Dean and Jayne are back, and they brought Gordon."

Sam made a face. "Crap."

"That's what I was thinking."

He shook his head. "Um… I think we need to leave."

"Ok," Lynn returned slowly, raising her eyebrow. "So… let's leave."

Sam was fidgeting around a lot. Lynn couldn't decide whether he looked freaked out or confused. "It's sort of more complicated than that," he admitted.

She frowned. "Sam, what the hell is your problem?"

"I've been in the nest."

His announcement completely threw her. Lynn blinked at him, shocked into silence for several moments. Sam waited for her to respond, raising his eyebrows as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Lynn?" he finally asked.

"How the _hell_ did you get into the nest?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Uh… they took me there."

"_They?_ Tell me you don't mean the vampires."

Sam shrugged again, scratching at the back of his neck. "Uh… well, yeah. I do."

She closed her eyes, absorbing the new information. Slowly, she shook her head. "Start over. From the beginning. Don't leave out any details."

Sam sighed, his shoulders slumping. "They kind of broke into my room and, uh…"

"Kidnapped you?"

Her question received yet another shrug from Sam. "Sort of."

"_Sort of?_"

"Look, they just wanted to talk."

"Are you _defending_ the bloodthirsty vampires that _kidnapped _you?"

He sighed again, much harsher than he had the first time. "Look, haven't the cattle mutilations been bothering you at all? I mean, they don't really fit into the vampire angle, right?"

"Well, no…"

"They told me _they're_ responsible for the mutilations – that they don't feed on humans anymore, and that they feed on cattle blood instead."

Sam's announcement had little to no effect on Lynn. She blinked, and then shrugged. "And you believe them?"

"What else would have killed those cows?"

"Natural causes?"

"Natural causes? That's why the carcasses were mutilated and missing most of their blood?"

"Gravity."

Sam sighed harshly, giving her an annoyed look. "Quit quoting the sheriff to me. Look, you know as well as I do that something had to have killed those cows. There are next to no missing persons cases in this county. What other explanation do you have?"

"They've been snatching their food from outside the county."

"And the cows?"

"Don't make me say it again."

Sam growled in frustration, shaking his head. "They _let me go_, Lynn. All they want is to be free to leave this place. They just want us to stop hunting them. They're not hurting anybody, and they want us to leave them in peace."

"And you're willing to do that?"

"They're not hurting anybody!"

"According to them!"

Sam looked ready to scream at her, but Lynn was finding herself equally frustrated with him. She didn't know why – she too had found the whole case suspicious, and she definitely didn't like Gordon Walker, but – well, she wasn't about to take a nest full of bloodthirsty vampires at their word, either.

He shook his head again, and then leveled her with the dreaded puppy eyes. Lynn grimaced, looking away, already feeling her resolve weaken. "Can you just trust me on this?" he asked her. "Just give me the benefit of the doubt – trust my instincts? Like you've done before?"

That was a low blow, although Sam probably didn't realize it, and it was almost enough to make her go marching into that vampire nest and slaughter them all, simply out of spite. She didn't take that route, however – instead, she took a deep breath, and forced herself to think about the situation rationally. Sam was right – to an extent. There was no spike in missing persons in the area. The only steady example of violent activity centered on the mutilated cows. Plus, Gordon Walker was creepy – which in all fairness was not a valid reason to start working against him, but Lynn didn't always do the fair thing – even she could admit that.

"I'm not saying I buy into this whole 'vampires can be good too' theory," she began cautiously. Sam looked hopeful anyway, and inwardly she cursed. "But… I am willing to investigate the situation further before doing anything extreme… like chopping all their heads off, which, just so you know, is actually what I really want to do."

He nodded. "Right. I get that."

She nodded back. "Ok. What makes you think they're telling the truth?"

He smiled slightly. "Lynn, they let me go. Why would they do that if they weren't serious about not hurting people anymore? They could have just killed me, and then come back for the rest of us. No more hunters, no more problem!"

"Why would they stop eating humans?" she retorted. "What could possibly have been their motivation?"

Sam looked a little uncomfortable about answering that. "They said it was survival – that people like us have nearly hunted them into extinction."

Lynn snorted. "Good."

Sam looked annoyed at her, but didn't address her sidebar. "They switched to cattle so people like us wouldn't have a reason to come after them anymore."

"A reason like… I don't know… all the people they killed _before_ their great diet shake-up?"

She received another annoyed glare. "They're trying. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I mean… maybe, maybe not. You're basically telling me that these vampires only stopped eating people so hunters would stop killing them. It doesn't exactly tug my heartstrings, Sam. It doesn't exactly make them look sympathetic."

"So you want to kill them anyway?" he snapped. "Just because they're vampires? I expected better from you."

Another low blow. Lynn swallowed hard, blinking her suddenly stinging eyes. "Why?" she retorted.

At that, Sam began to fidget, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I don't… I just thought… you know what? Never mind."

"No, go ahead and say it," Lynn pressed. "I spent the last couple of months freaking out because my bio-mom had gone all hoodoo-dark-side, and so I should _understand_ why these vampires deserve to live. Right? Is that it?"

Sam looked regretful, but he didn't say anything. Lynn rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said. "In case you haven't noticed, I _haven't_ gone all hoodoo-dark-side. In fact, I haven't even gone hoodoo-nice-side. You haven't used your freaky demon mojo to kill any innocent people, and the only people my brother's lit on fire are demons and crazies who deserved it. So you know what? Maybe I don't understand. Maybe I shouldn't have to. Maybe…"

Her voice caught. Lynn choked slightly, and then swallowed again. Her eyes were starting to sting like they had at the beginning of this uncomfortable conversation. She really didn't know why she was reacting like this. It was like she was standing outside of herself, watching someone else use her body and her mouth to say all those things. Lynn might even have apologized if Sam hadn't looked so ashamed of himself.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, beating her to the punch. "I didn't mean to… look, what's happened with us and the demon and everything – that's not what this is about. Ok? It's not the same issue; it's separate. We should treat it like it's different. I want to give the vampires the benefit of the doubt. You said you did too. Can't we just look into their story a little more before making a decision?"

He sounded so rational, and Lynn was having a hard time arguing with him. She took another deep breath and nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, ok."

Sam nodded back, and then surveyed the parking lot. "You said Dean and Jayne are back," he recalled.

"Yeah," she murmured.

"But they brought Gordon," Sam pressed, reiterating her earlier announcement. Lynn nodded in confirmation, and Sam made a face. "Great."

"It's not completely bad," Lynn replied. "I talked to Jayne already, and told her what Rufus and Ellen said. She jumped on board the whole 'let's ditch Gordon' train pretty quickly. Honestly, I think she's been looking for a reason to get rid of him since we met him in the alleyway."

Sam snorted. "Yeah," he smirked. "Sounds like Jayne."

"Tell me about it," Lynn murmured. "Even after meeting you and Dean turned out to be a good thing, she is still hell bent against making new friends."

He smiled slightly at that, tucking his chin. Lynn smiled too, suddenly feeling a lot better about the whole hunt, and the whole conversation she'd been having with Sam. "Ok," she said, taking another deep breath. "Let's pull Dean and Jayne out of the motel, tell them the whole story, and go from there."

Sam frowned. "I don't think Dean's going to like this."

Lynn completely agreed with him, but had the tact not to say so. Sam led the way towards his motel room, and she followed him slowly, her arms folded across her chest. Even as she followed him, she couldn't shake her lingering doubts about Sam's plans and Sam's ideas. Good vampires or not, Lynn still couldn't be certain that letting the Red Lodge nest live was the right decision.

* * *

><p>Jayne leaned back in the hard wooden chair, her back to the motel room window and her boot on the edge of the seat. She perched her elbow on top of her bent knee, surveying the two men seated with her at the small table in Sam and Dean's room. Gordon and Dean sat across from each other, one on either side of her, peering down at a map of the county.<p>

Gordon traced an area circled in red with his finger. "This is the best pattern I could establish," he announced. "It's sketchy at best."

"Pattern for what?" Jayne demanded.

Dean raised his eyebrow at her. Gordon took a deep breath through his nose, and then gave her a very patient, patronizing look. "A feeding pattern."

"There's people dying out there?" Jayne challenged him. "Going missing?"

"Yes."

"Weird," Jayne bit back. "Because while my sister was interviewing the local sheriff, I was breaking into the file room. And you want to know what I didn't find?"

"Hey, Goldilocks, take it easy," Dean intervened.

"I'm just stating facts," Jayne retorted. "This county does not have a suspiciously high missing persons count, and the only recent, violent deaths were _your_ handiwork."

A long silence followed her statement. Gordon's lower jaw moved around like he was chewing a particularly tough cut of meat. Dean raised his eyebrow, glancing at her, and then at Gordon.

"It's not great," Gordon admitted. "But it's all we've got."

Jayne raised her eyebrow at that, fixing him with hard eyes. Dean cleared his throat, and frowned at the red circle on the map. "It looks like it's all coming from this side of town," he announced, tapping the part of the map in question. "So that would mean the nest is here somewhere."

"That's what I'm thinking," Gordon agreed. "The problem is there's thirty-five, forty farms out there. I've searched about half of them already, but… nothing yet. They're covering their tracks pretty well."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to search the other half," Dean smirked.

Jayne was still not convinced. She glared at them both, drumming her fingers on her knee. There had to be a way to convince Dean to leave the room so she could relay her problem with Gordon – explain what Lynn and Sam had found out about the other hunter. The problem was, she couldn't think of a way to lure Dean outside that wouldn't make Gordon suspicious.

"God, what time is it?" Dean said suddenly, his tone irritated. "Where is Sam?"

"Probably went for a walk," Gordon commented. "Seems like the 'take a walk' type."

Dean rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, he is, but…"

The door to the motel room creaked open, cutting Dean off midsentence. All three hunters turned to look just as Sam stepped into the room, his brow furrowed. Behind him was Lynn, her arms folded defensively over her chest and her mouth puckered in a tight little frown. Jayne raised her eyebrow at the sight, instantly sensing something was up.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean barked at his younger brother.

"Can I talk to you alone?" Sam replied.

She didn't expect Dean to take the request as well as he did. Dean didn't complain, or even give Sam the stink-eye. He just turned to Gordon and asked, "Mind chilling out for a couple of minutes?"

And to Jayne's surprise once again, Gordon also took the request far better than she had anticipated. He just shrugged and shook his head. Dean got up from the table and followed Sam outside. She watched the two brothers disappear through the door, and then met her sister's eyes. Lynn raised her eyebrows, and jerked her head in the direction of the exit.

"Excuse me," Jayne grunted at Gordon. He nodded, and she got to her feet, walking towards the door. Lynn followed her into the parking lot, gently shutting the door behind them.

Sam and Dean were already standing on the asphalt, yelling at one another. Jayne sighed heavily, slowing her descent towards the two men. Lynn, on the other hand, picked up her pace, brushing past her to get to the boys.

"How'd you get out?" Dean was demanding. "How many did you kill?"

Jayne frowned, folding her arms over her chest. Sam shrugged. "None," he replied.

"Come on, Sam, they didn't just let you go!"

"That's exactly what they did."

"What are you guys talking about?" Jayne spoke up.

Sam and Dean whirled around at the sound of her voice. Lynn had reached them beforehand, but they hadn't seemed to notice her. In fact, both boys looked fairly surprised to see that they were no longer alone.

"I was in the nest," Sam explained.

Jayne blinked. "You were in the nest," she repeated.

"They let him go," Lynn jumped in. "The vampires took him to the nest, and then they let him go."

Jayne scoffed. "Right. Sure they did."

Sam shrugged again. "I don't know what else to tell you. That's exactly what happened."

"Well, all right," Dean cut in. "So they let you go. Where's the nest?"

"I was blindfolded. I don't know."

"Well, you got to know something!"

"We went over that bridge outside of town, but Dean, listen. Maybe we shouldn't go after them."

"Why not?"

"I don't think they're like other vampires. I don't think they're killing people."

"You're joking."

Sam made a pained face. Jayne wrinkled her nose, shaking her head, trying to absorb what Sam was saying. Lynn rolled her eyes.

"Then how are they staying alive?" Dean challenged Sam. "Or undead, or whatever the hell they are."

"The cattle mutilations," Sam replied. "They said they live off of animal blood."

It was Dean's turn to scoff. "And you believe them?"

"Look, I know it sounds totally crazy," Lynn spoke up. "I mean… totally crazy. But… I mean... maybe this is worth looking into. We don't want to kill them if they don't… you know. Deserve it."

Dean gawked at her incredulously. "They're _vampires_," he retorted.

"Hold on," Jayne cut in. "They're responsible for the cattle mutilations?"

Sam looked at her instead of his brother. "That's what they said."

She nodded slowly. "There's not a lot of missing persons in this county."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I heard you the first three hundred times. I told you, they could be hunting in a different area."

Jayne raised her eyebrow at him. "Then explain the cattle mutilations."

"Natural causes coupled with gravity?" Lynn suggested.

Jayne fixed her with a glower. "Are you seriously feeding me the local sheriff's line of bullshit? Do you want me to hit you?"

"Are you seriously considering that these vampires don't eat people?" Dean retorted.

"They _let me go_," Sam spoke up. "Why would they do that if they weren't telling the truth?"

There was a brief moment of silence. Jayne fidgeted uncomfortably, her arms still folded across her chest. She wasn't sure what she thought about this whole thing. There had been something off about this hunt from the get-go, but that didn't mean she was ready to admit that sometimes vampires could be good too.

Dean was the one who broke the silence. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No, man. No way. I don't know why they let you go – I don't really care – but we find them, we waste them."

The announcement made sense – to a degree. It was still a little too cold. Jayne frowned again, training her eyes on the pavement. Dean walked away from the rest of them and Sam immediately followed.

"Why?" he demanded.

Dean scoffed incredulously. "What part of vampires don't you understand, Sam? If it's supernatural, we kill it. End of story. That's our job."

"No, Dean, that is not our job!" Sam argued. "Our job is hunting evil! And if these things aren't killing people, then they're not evil!"

"Of course they're killing people! That's what they do! They're all the same, Sam! They're not human. Ok? So we have to exterminate every last one of them!"

"I don't think so, all right? Not this time!"

Dean shook his head, and then turned to smirk at Jayne and her stepsister. "And you two are on board with this? You don't want to kill the vampires either?"

"We never said that," Lynn retorted. "I _definitely _never said that. I just want to be one hundred percent certain that what we're hunting _deserves_ to be hunted."

Dean stared at her, clearly unimpressed. "They're _vampires_,' he said again.

Lynn pursed her lips and tossed her hair. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything."

Jayne made a face at her sister. She was pretty sure Lynn was every bit as eager to chop off vampire heads as Dean was; she simply didn't like Dean's attitude, and so she was railing against what the elder Winchester wanted. Jayne, for her part, still wasn't sure whose side she was on.

"Gordon's been on those vamps for a year," Dean was saying now. "He knows."

It was Sam's turn to be incredulous. "Gordon?" he exclaimed.

"Yes."

"You're taking his word for it?"

"That's right."

"Ellen says he's bad news!"

Dean blinked. "You called Ellen."

Sam shrugged.

"And I'm supposed to listen to her? We barely know her, Sam! No thanks; I'll go with Gordon."

Sam scoffed. "Right. 'Cause Gordon's such an old friend."

"I called Rufus," Lynn spoke up.

Dean turned to frown at her. Sam's expression was unbearably smug, but fortunately Dean didn't see it. "Rufus?" he asked.

"Yeah," Lynn returned. "Hannigan – who _does_ happen to be an old friend. He said the same thing about Gordon that Ellen did. You don't have to believe Sam about the vampires – if I'm being perfectly honest? I'm not sure I buy it either. But I sure as hell believe Rufus when he says we can't trust Gordon."

Jayne ducked her head as her sister's speech came to an end. Dean was staring at Lynn, his bottom jaw moving around like he was working over something unpleasant. "There," Sam said triumphantly. "See? Ellen's not the only one who thinks something's wrong with Gordon."

Jayne could see everything Dean was thinking flash across his face. At the mention of Rufus, Dean's skepticism had seemed to fade ever so slightly. He'd seemed ready to listen. Then Sam had gone and made his smug little comment, and Dean's hackles immediately rose again. Before anyone could speak, Jayne cut in.

"I don't like this Gordon guy," she said, her eyes on Dean. "You know I don't like him."

Dean snorted, but the way he looked just a little to the left gave away how uncomfortable he was. "Yeah, and you're usually so freaking friendly, right?"

"Shut up, smartass," she retorted. "I told you I didn't like him. I told you I thought something was up with him. And I've been feeling like something is wrong with this hunt, too – no missing persons? The only violently murdered people in the area turned out to be vampires? Throw in the cattle mutilations and Sam's little story…"

"What?" he interrupted sourly. "It makes sense?"

Jayne shrugged. "I don't know. But its worth looking into."

Dean said nothing for several long seconds. Jayne rolled her eyes. "Come on," she pressed. "You're honestly going to pick Gordon's word over Rufus? Lynn and I have known him since we were small! If he says steer clear of someone…"

"I get it!" Dean snapped. "Maybe I don't like it, but I get it. You can stop."

Jayne swallowed, and blinked, and then looked him dead in the eye. "Can I?" she retorted.

He didn't reply right away. Dean just shook his head, lowering his eyes to the asphalt and looking pissed. Sam chose that moment to butt in. "You think I can't see what this is?" he asked his brother.

Dean whipped his head around defensively. "What are you talking about?"

"He's a substitute for Dad, isn't he?" Sam snapped. "A poor one."

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam should have shut up, Jayne decided. Dean turned his back on his brother and made to walk away, and everything could have been ok – really, they were all awfully good at sweeping things under the rug – but Sam couldn't let it go. He should have – Jayne knew Dean had been weird about Gordon since they met him, but she didn't really think it was about replacing John. It was definitely about John in some way, but Gordon was not a substitute – she couldn't even begin to think that Sam's conclusion was Dean's real motivation.

"He's not even close, Dean," Sam pushed. "Not on his best day."

"You know what? I'm not even going to talk about this…"

"You slap on this big fake smile, but I see right through it because I know how you feel, Dean! Dad's dead, and he left a hole so big that you can't stand it, but you can't just fill up that hole with whoever you want to! It's an insult to his memory."

The words were so harsh, they stung even Jayne. She didn't know whether they were true – could see how they might be, but couldn't determine if they really were. Deep down, she thought Sam's little outburst might have told a lot more about Sam than it did about Dean. At any rate, true or not, the words struck a chord with the eldest Winchester.

"Ok," Dean said softly. He turned away again. Then he spun back around and punched Sam in the face.

Jayne winced slightly as the thump of Dean's fist against soft flesh echoed in the parking lot. Sam made a pained grunt, and Lynn cried out in surprise, her hands flying over her mouth. Dean glared at his brother, clearly ready for a fight – _wanting_ a fight. Sam just stared back. He shrugged.

"You can hit me all you want," he said. "It won't change anything."

"I'm going to that nest," Dean snapped. "You don't want to tell me where it is? Fine. I'll find it myself."

He turned his back on Sam again and marched for the motel room door. Lynn jumped in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. "Oh, no you don't," she announced, her dark eyes flashing. "I get it – Sam's pissing you off. Well, guess what? There's a chance – albeit a very small unlikely chance, but a chance all the same – that those vampires are innocent in all this, and I am not about to let you slaughter an entire group of innocent creatures just because you're pissed at your little brother!"

Her indignant shout rang out too loud in the parking lot, echoing around the small, dimly lit space. Dean stood still, glaring at Lynn, his jaw twitching in an unsettling, dangerous way. Lynn held her ground, lifting her chin and staring Dean down. For a moment, nobody moved and nobody spoke. Jayne exchanged a look with Sam, who frowned and shook his head. Then she cleared her throat and stepped up beside her sister.

"Lynn's right," she announced, looking Dean in the eye. "I can't let you do that either."

Dean looked right back at her, and she swallowed involuntarily at the hard look in his eyes. There was another brief moment of silence, and then Dean shook his head, looking every bit as pissed as he had before. "Screw this," he muttered, pushing past Lynn.

Lynn was on him in two seconds flat, following him up to the motel room barely an inch from his heels. She didn't say anything else, but she didn't let him move without her, clearly intent on keeping her promise. Jayne bit her lower lip and trailed after them. Behind her, Sam's footsteps echoed in the parking lot.

Dean stormed back into the room, and the other three followed him. "Gordon?" he called, pressing his way further inside. "Gordon!"

Jayne stood back by the door, her eyes quickly sweeping the room. It was empty – no trace of the other hunter. Sam walked on by her, following Dean towards the center of the room. "Do you think he went after them?" he asked breathlessly.

"Probably!" Dean retorted.

"Dean, we have to stop him."

"Really, Sam? Because I say we lend a hand!"

"Just give me the benefit of the doubt, would you? You owe me that!"

Dean didn't look convinced by that argument. "Yeah, we'll see," he grumbled. "I'll drive. Give me the keys."

It felt like the whole hunt was spinning out of control – and honestly, it kind of was. Jayne folded her arms over her chest again, leaning against the wall by the door and shaking her head. Sam made a move towards the table with his hand outstretched, but froze halfway to his intended destination.

His eyes went wide as he stared at the table. "He snaked the keys," Sam announced in shock.

Lynn scoffed from her place by the window. "Great!" she said. "Tell me we're not still giving _that_ guy the benefit of the doubt."

"Damn it!" Dean growled.

Jayne rolled her eyes. "All right, everybody calm down," she spoke up, pushing herself off the wall. She dug the keys to her truck out of her jeans pocket and then waved them at the rest of the group. "_I'll_ drive."

She turned her back on them and marched back out into the parking lot. As she headed for her truck, she heard the other three following behind her – their footsteps on the asphalt, the creak and the thud of the motel room door…

Gordon had taken Dean's keys, she told herself. That reeked of suspicious. There was something very wrong with this hunt; that was obvious now.

She swung open the driver side door and stepped up into the truck. Lynn pulled open the passenger side door and jumped in beside her, and they both slammed their doors shut. Jayne turned the key in the ignition as Sam and Dean vaulted into the back.

Nothing happened.

She frowned, and tried again. She got the same result. "What the fuck?" she exclaimed.

Lynn groaned and rubbed her forehead. "Damn it," she sighed.

Jayne ignored her, hopping down immediately from the cab. Dean landed beside her seconds later, having jumped down from the bed, and followed her as she rounded the front bumper. "What's going on?" he demanded.

She popped the hood. "She won't start," Jayne bit out, staring down at the engine block.

Dean stood at her shoulder and surveyed the contents of her hood. "Yeah," he murmured. "That's because your distributor cap's gone."

Jayne's eyes fell on the spot in question, and immediately she realized Dean was right; the distributor cap was gone. "That _bastard_!" she exploded, slamming the hood shut.

"Great," Dean grumbled, turning towards the Impala. "I really didn't want to have to do this."

Before she could open her mouth to ask what, Dean was already marching across the parking lot to his car and swinging open the driver side door. She frowned after him as he clambered inside, one leg hanging out into the parking lot as he hunkered down under the steering wheel.

A door slammed behind her, and Jayne whirled around to find Lynn walking her way. Sam had already leapt down from his place in the bed, and now he was making a beeline for the front passenger side door on the Impala. Lynn joined her as Sam sailed on past, crinkling up her nose in curiosity. "What's the deal?" she asked.

Jayne sighed in annoyance. "Gordon Walker stole my distributor cap. When we find him, I'm going to shoot him. Probably in the ass."

Lynn didn't look impressed. "Awesome. What's Dean doing?"

Jayne shrugged. "Hotwiring the Impala?"

It turned out that was exactly what Dean was doing. Jayne marched over to the Impala, Lynn at her side, and both of them climbed into the backseat. When they were settled in, she quickly observed Dean brushing two wires together under the steering column.

"I can't believe this," he was grumbling. "I just fixed her up too."

Suddenly, the engine turned over, and the Impala's familiar rumble assaulted their ears. Dean slammed the door shut and put his hand on the gearshift. "So the bridge," he said, turning to Sam. "Is that all you got?"

"The bridge was four and a half minutes from their farm," Sam replied, bent over a map he'd spread across his knees.

Jayne frowned at that. So did Dean. "How do you know?" he asked.

Sam looked at him like he was stupid. "I counted."

Jayne raised her eyebrow. "Seriously?" Lynn retorted.

Sam ignored the comment. "We took a right onto a dirt road, followed that for two minutes slightly uphill, and then took another quick right when we hit the bridge."

"You're good," Dean admitted. "A monster pain in the ass, but you're good."

Then he put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. The car lapsed into silence and stayed that way for the rest of the ride.

* * *

><p>Dean wheeled the Impala into the dirt drive of the farmhouse Sam claimed the Red Lodge vampire nest lived in, trying very hard not to squeal the tires. Just a little ways up the road, they'd spotted Gordon's red El Camino parked in the undergrowth, and the sight had put Sam in panic mode.<p>

As for Dean, he still wasn't convinced by all this friendly vampire bullshit Sam was trying to feed him. He didn't think Jayne and Lynn were totally convinced either – Lynn was determined to get all the facts before making a decision, but she didn't seem to want to trust a group of vampires at their word, either. As for Jayne – well, for some reason, she'd decided she didn't like Gordon. Bottom line.

In fact, Dean was positive that the only person in the car worried about the vampire nest in question was Sam. They were _vampires_ for crying out loud – who really cared if they died?

Maybe that was a terrible thought to have, but all Dean could think about was the last group of vampires he'd met, and how dead set on sowing misery they'd been. It was hard to imagine these vampires having different motivations.

Once he'd parked the car, the four hunters all clambered out of the Impala and gently shut their doors behind them. Dean led the way up the front steps of the old, worn-down farmhouse, stepping lightly so the porch planks wouldn't creak. The four hunters crept through the front door and marched down the hall.

There was no denying the sounds coming from the back of the house. They were faint, but Dean still picked them up. Hissing and whimpering and panting – the sounds of someone in pain. He instinctively quickened his pace. When he finally reached the dining room, he stopped short in shock.

There was a woman sitting limply in the chair at the head of the dining room table. She was pale, with long dark hair. Blood streaked her face and her chest and her arms. Blood dribbled from her nose. Her breathing was labored, and she could barely move her head.

Seated on the table, directly over the woman, was Gordon. He held a knife in his hand, and had his back turned to the door. At the sound of their entrance, he slowly looked over his shoulder.

"Oh," he said mildly, getting to his feet. "You're here. Good. Come on in."

Dean stepped forward, blocking Sam's move to do the same. "Gordon," he replied calmly. "What's going on?"

"Just poisoning Lenore here with some dead man's blood. She's going to tell us where all her little friends are, aren't you?"

The other hunter glanced back at the woman in the chair as he asked the question. Dean couldn't help the sick feeling that formed in his stomach. Gordon looked at Dean again, as though there was nothing wrong with the scene. "Want to help?" he asked.

Jayne snorted behind him, and then moved away from the door. "I think we'll pass," she retorted. Her tone wasn't angry, but it was plenty judgmental.

Gordon blinked at her, his face eerily expressionless. Dean swallowed. "That's too bad," Gordon returned, as easily as though they were talking about a game of baseball. "I was just about to start in on the fingers."

He dragged the dark red stained blade across Lenore's forearm. The woman – Dean was having a hard time reconciling her with the word vampire – the woman drew her breath through her teeth, and the sharp, pained hiss echoed in the too still room.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean spoke up, holding up his hands. "Let's all just… chill out, all right?"

Gordon smiled slightly, shaking his head. 'I'm completely chill," he assured him.

"Gordon, put the knife down," Sam practically growled, taking a step forward. Dean blocked him again.

The other hunter looked mildly surprised. "Sounds like Sam's the one who needs to chill," he observed.

"Just step away from her," Sam ordered. "All right?"

There was an odd expression on Gordon's face. Dean frowned, watching as Gordon swallowed visibly, and then tossed the knife on the table. "You're right," he agreed. He even looked slightly ashamed. "I'm wasting my time here. This bitch will never talk."

Gordon yanked a machete from the bag sitting on the dining room table, and then pulled it swiftly from its sheath. Dean tensed at the sudden movement; swallowed at the reveal of the second weapon. He heard Lynn jump behind him – could hear her heavy intake of breath. "Might as well put her out of her misery," Gordon was saying now, carefully examining the blade. He glanced over at Sam, making an attempt to be reassuring. It came out like mockery. "I just sharpened it, so it's completely humane."

Sam lunged forward. "Gordon, I'm letting her go," he announced.

Instantly, the blade was pointed at Sam's throat. "You're not doing a damn thing," Gordon snarled, his eyes wide and threatening.

"Hey, hey," Dean said slowly – soothingly. He made a few cautious steps forward. "Gordon. Let's talk about this."

"What's there to talk about?" Gordon retorted. "It's like I said, Dean – no shades of gray."

"Yeah," Dean replied. "I hear you. And I know how you feel."

"Do you?" Gordon snapped, his knife never wavering from Sam's throat.

"Look, the vampire that killed your sister deserved to die…"

Gordon chuckled at that, shaking his head. His laugh was dark and low – bitter. "Killed my sister," he repeated. "That filthy fang didn't kill my sister. It turned her. It made her one of them. So I hunted her down, and I killed her myself."

He couldn't believe the words that had just come out of Gordon's mouth. "You did what?" he demanded.

"It wasn't my sister anymore," Gordon informed him. "It wasn't human. I didn't blink. And neither would you."

At first, Dean had felt something like kin with Gordon. Sam's accusation about Dean trying to replace his father with the new hunter – it hadn't been accurate, not really. Still, it had been nice to meet someone who was on the same page as him, who wasn't second-guessing every decision he made, the way Sam and Lynn and Jayne did. Now, however, the two of them were not on the same page, because no matter what Dean's father might have whispered in his ear a few weeks ago, Dean was never killing Sammy.

"So you knew all along then," Sam accused the other hunter. "You knew about the vampires. You knew they weren't killing anyone. You knew about the cattle. You just didn't care."

"Care about what?" Gordon retorted. "A nest of vampires suddenly acting nice? Taking a little time out from sucking innocent people? And we're supposed to buy that?"

"Wow," Jayne drawled from Dean's right. He glanced her way, noticing her hand already hovering near the pistol in her waistband. "You're one basketful of issues aren't you?"

Gordon scoffed. "Why? Because I _know_ what she is? Take it from me – this one isn't any different than any of the other things we've hunted."

"She's not hurting anybody," Lynn spoke up, taking a few steps closer to Sam. "You can't just chop her head off simply because you feel like it. I don't care who did what to your sister – that doesn't give you a free pass to be a crazy asshole."

It was the wrong thing to say, although Gordon didn't immediately act out in response. His expression and his tone of voice were both creepily rational. "You think I'm crazy?" he asked, sounding very calm. "I'm right about her, and I can prove it."

Suddenly, Gordon reached out and grabbed Sam by the arm. Dean instinctively flinched as Gordon sliced through the skin of Sam's forearm with the knife, and then, still clutching Sam's wrist, leveled the blade of the knife at Sam's throat.

Dean pulled his gun immediately and pointed it at Gordon's head. Just as fast as he'd pulled his gun, so had Jayne and Lynn, and now there were three pistols were pointed at Gordon's head. The other hunter seemed unfazed; his grip on Sam's arm and the knife didn't falter.

"Let him go," Dean ordered. Gordon didn't do any such thing - his grip on Sam's arm only tightened. Dean took a step forward, his stomach lurching in panic. "Now!" he barked.

"Relax," Gordon replied. "If I wanted to kill him, he'd already be on the floor. I'm just making a little point."

He squeezed Sam's arm a little tighter. Dean frowned, gripping his gun harder. As he stood there, watching the other two men, one large, thick drop of dark red blood rolled out of the cut on Sam's arm and dropped down onto Lenore's face.

In seconds, Lenore's long, sharp vampire teeth were bared and her pupils were dilated. She hissed, trying to lunge out of the chair. Fortunately, she was too weak to move.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lynn exclaimed, moving forward a step and adjusting her aim.

"You think she's so different?" Gordon asked. "You still want to save her? Look at her."

Dean had to admit that as sickening as Gordon's little torture routine was, the sight of Lenore hissing at Sam's bloody arm, baring all her teeth, was just as unsettling. He swallowed down his repulsion, still gripping his gun. Lynn shook her head, her teeth working on her lower lip, and Jayne took a step forward, her eyes still pinned on Gordon; her aim never faltering.

"They're all the same," Gordon went on, his face twisting in disgust. "Bloodthirsty."

Then, suddenly, something truly weird happened. Lenore stopped hissing, and retracted her teeth. She squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her face away from the blood.

"No," she growled. "_No_."

Everyone stared at the vampire in surprise. Sam glared at Gordon over the top of Lenore's head. "Do you hear her Gordon?" he demanded.

The vampire woman was still muttering to herself. Sam pushed Gordon away from him, and surprisingly Gordon didn't resist. He simply stepped away and lowered his blade, blinking in confusion.

"We're done here," Sam informed him.

Gordon was still staring at the vampire in the chair, his eyes wide and disbelieving. Lynn took several quick steps towards Sam, her gun still pointed at Gordon's head. "Sam, get her out of here," Dean ordered.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, bending over the chair and scooping Lenore up into his arms. Gordon took a step forward, only to freeze when Lynn cocked her pistol.

"Don't even think about it," she said, holding the gun barely a foot away from his forehead.

Gordon held up his hands in surrender. Sam lifted Lenore from her chair and carried her towards the exit. Dean held his ground on the other end of the dining room table, gun pointed at Gordon, and so did Jayne. Lynn kept her gun trained on the other hunter as well, backing towards the exit, after Sam.

Sam vanished into the hall, and Lynn followed him, her dark eyes focused on Gordon as intently as her gun. Then she ducked out of the room too. Seconds later, Dean heard the creak of the front door, followed by a _thud!_

The other hunter stared at the doorway. "Gordon," Dean spoke up, stepping closer and giving his gun a slight shake. "You and I got some things to talk about."

Gordon turned his glare on Dean instead of the empty door. Dean kept his gun pointed at Gordon's head. So did Jayne. Gordon glanced at the knife he was still holding, and then looked up at the two hunters blocking his path to the doorway. "Get out of my way," he commanded.

Dean simply shrugged. "Sorry."

"You're not serious."

"I'm having a hard time believing it too, but I know what I saw. You want those vampires; you're going to have to go through us."

He glanced at Jayne as he spoke, and she nodded ever so slightly in agreement. Gordon stared at them a moment longer, and then looked at his knife again. He sighed, and then stuck the tip of the blade in the dining room table.

"Fine," he said.

At that unexpected move, Dean did falter. For a moment, he simply eyed Gordon, trying to decide whether or not to agree to his unspoken terms. Eventually, never breaking eye contact with the other hunter, Dean released the magazine and tucked it into his coat. Then he put his gun back in his waistband.

_Thud!_ Gordon's fist caught him immediately in the head. Dean grunted in pain as black spots exploded in his eyes. He swung out too, catching Gordon in the mouth. The other hunter whirled around with the force of the blow and stumbled back towards his end of the table. Dean shook his head clear, just in time to see Gordon yank his knife out of the table.

He groaned, automatically hating himself for buying into that whole man-to-man, fists only, let's-do-this-nobly bullshit. Gordon swiped at him with the knife, and Dean narrowly avoided the blade.

_Bang!_

A gunshot echoed throughout the farmhouse, and the knife went flying from Gordon's hand. The other hunter cried out, cradling his fingers. Dean looked to his left, wide-eyed and shocked. Jayne, still holding her pistol at Gordon's head, raised her eyebrow at him. "What?" she asked with a scoff. "You think I put mine down too? I'm not you; I'm smart."

Dean made a face at her. Gordon watched Jayne carefully, still holding the hand she'd shot. Dean could see dark red blood dribbling over his thumb. "You really doing all this for a fang?" he asked in a low voice. "Come on. We're all on the same side here."

"I don't think so, you sadistic bastard," Dean retorted.

Gordon took a step forward. "Don't you dare," Jayne snapped. "I will shoot you right in the head, and I'm not going to feel bad about it."

The other hunter froze in his tracks, still nursing his hand. Dean watched him carefully, not daring to reload his gun. The moment he moved, he was sure Gordon would try something. He didn't think it would matter much – Jayne would put him down without flinching, he was sure – but he didn't want to take any more hits to the head.

Jayne gestured at the chair Lenore had been sitting in. "Have a seat," she ordered.

Gordon didn't move. Jayne took a step towards him and lowered her gun, refocusing her aim on his feet. "I can make you dance over to that chair," she informed him.

Slowly, his dark, angry eyes boring intensely in Jayne's, the other man backed towards the chair. Jayne followed him, keeping a safe distance from him, her gun pointed at his head once again. Gordon lowered himself into the chair, still glaring at Jayne.

Dean moved to the duffel bag that the other hunter had left lying on the table and rummaged around in it, searching for anything that might restrain the man. He found a length of coarse rope coiled at the bottom and pulled it out triumphantly, smirking at Gordon as he approached the man's seat. Jayne's finger hovered over the trigger on her gun as Dean got close enough to wrap the rope around Gordon's chest and secure it tightly around the back of the chair.

Gordon didn't move; his eyes on the barrel of Jayne's gun. "You're not like your brother, Dean," he said as Dean tied him tightly to the chair. "You're a killer. Like me."

Jayne rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she groaned.

Dean finished the sailor's knot, reasonably sure that Gordon wasn't going anywhere. "You know, I might be like you," he retorted, leaning over Gordon's shoulder. "I might not. But you're the one tied up right now."

He straightened up and walked away from the other man. Slowly, Jayne lowered her gun. He could feel her eyes on him, following him as he walked past her. He didn't make eye contact.

Dean wasn't satisfied – it wasn't enough. He wanted to _hit_ the man again, hear the sound of his fist cracking against bone, feel the smarting in his knuckles as he made contact with the other man's face. His fingers were practically shaking with the need to throw a punch. Jayne could tell – he was certain. She wouldn't stop staring at him. He ignored her and took up leaning space on the wall by the door, folding his arms over his chest and trying to keep it all together – trying not to look like the mess he was.

After a long awkward moment of silence, Jayne tucked her gun in her waistband and made her way over to the dining room table. Dean frowned, watching her curiously. She began rifling roughly through the pockets of Gordon's abandoned jacket. One by one she turned the pockets inside out, dumping loose change and wadded up handkerchiefs on the table. When she'd finally finished digging through the coat, she cussed and tossed it aside. Dean frowned, watching Jayne march straight up to Gordon. The other hunter leaned back in the chair, furrowing his brow nervously. Jayne shoved her hand in his shirt pocket, and then in the pocket of his jeans.

"Whoa, Goldilocks," Dean said, raising his eyebrow. "What do you think this is? A party?"

Jayne pulled her hand out of Gordon's pocket, his car keys jingling from her hand. She whirled around and headed for the door. "What the hell are you doing?" Dean called.

She looked at him over her shoulder, pausing in her march. "I'm going to go find my distributor cap," she returned. Then she narrowed her eyes in Gordon's direction and pointed a threatening finger at him. "And for your own sake, I better find it. Because if you just tossed it somewhere? I'm going to take it out on your ass."

Then she turned back towards the door and stormed out of the house. Dean watched her leave, feeling strangely hollow and at the same time sort of relieved. He looked back at Gordon and the man glared straight into his eyes, a small unsettling smirk playing around his mouth.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Dean asked roughly, jerking his chin in the other hunter's direction.

Gordon's expression didn't change. "Not a damn thing."

And Dean was left feeling even more unnerved than before.

* * *

><p>The other vampires were waiting for them on the outskirts of town. Sam swallowed nervously as he wheeled the Impala off the road and onto the dusty shoulder. Several cars were parked in the dust around them, a vampire leaning on the back of each one. The sun was starting to rise, but not a single creature flinched.<p>

Sam put the car into park, but left the engine running, not wanting to hotwire the thing twice. He glanced over at Lynn. She was beside him, in the passenger seat, gnawing on her lower lip as she surveyed the number of vampires waiting for them. Lenore shifted in the backseat.

"You know," Lynn announced with her eyes on the windshield. "They look like they might kill us."

He had to agree with her. Every last vampire was glaring at the car, some with their arms folded over their chests, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Lenore groaned quietly in the backseat, and shifted her position again.

"No," she said hoarsely. "They won't. I promise."

The weird part, Sam decided, was that he believed her.

Lynn didn't, he could tell. She raised a skeptical eyebrow, watching incredulously as Sam stepped out of the car. The moment his shoe hit the dirt, he wanted to duck back into the car. Eli, the only really familiar face among the vampires, stepped forward threateningly. Sam ignored the movement, and swung open the back door of the Impala. As he bent over Lenore, he caught sight of Lynn sitting still in the front seat, glaring through the windshield, with a machete in her hands.

She'd brought the damn machete?

Lenore's arms encircled Sam's neck as he lifted her from the car. He stepped away from the car with the vampire in his arms, and moved towards the rest of her nest. Eli immediately sprang forward, snarling angrily. The moment Eli moved, the Impala's passenger side door swung open and Lynn leapt out, pointing her machete at the advancing vampire.

"Wait," Lenore croaked. "Stop, Eli."

Eli froze mid-step. His eyes moved from Lynn and her machete to Lenore.

"It wasn't them," she said. "Let's just go."

Eli said nothing. He snatched Lenore from Sam's arms, and then backed away from the pair of hunters still staring at him. Sam waved at Lynn, and she very reluctantly lowered her weapon.

As Sam watched, Eli tucked Lenore into his truck, and then clambered into the cab beside her. The other vampires took this as a sign to leave, and began climbing into their cars too. Their engines turned over, and one by one each car swerved out of the dust, disappearing down the road. Sam watched until the last car was gone. None of the vampires had said thank you, but Sam found that didn't really bother him. He knew they didn't deserve to die, and he was satisfied he'd stopped Gordon from following through with his crazy kamikaze mission.

A small smile formed on his face. He turned away from the road and met Lynn's eyes over the hood of the car. She was staring uncertainly down the road, and he knew the machete was still hanging from her hand. When her eyes met his, she didn't smile. She just stared at him, her expression blank.

Sam climbed back into the car, and she did the same. "We did the right thing," he told her.

Lynn stared straight at him. "I never said we didn't," she returned.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, and then Sam tore his eyes away from her and shifted back into drive. He pulled the car out of the dust and swung back out onto the road, driving off in the opposite direction that the vampires had.

They didn't speak for a long while. Finally, Lynn cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. "When this is over," she said quietly. "I think maybe we're going to need a drink."

Sam snorted, chuckling low in his throat. "Yeah, definitely."

"Seriously, though," she pressed. "I'm going to get wasted. Want to join me?"

He glanced at her, raising his eyebrows. Lynn forced a smile for him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Still, Sam appreciated the effort and figured he might as well meet her halfway. Swallowing hard, he nodded and forced a smile of his own.

"Sure," he murmured. "Sure, I'd like that."

Then they lapsed into silence, not speaking again until they reached the farmhouse.

* * *

><p>Jayne stepped into the house once again, not too long after leaving to find her distributor cap. The sounds of birds and cicadas assaulted her ears as she crossed over the threshold and shut the door. When she reached the dining room, she found Dean pacing by the window, his gun in his hand, and Gordon still bound to the chair. The beginnings of the sunrise were peeking over the horizon line and faint gray light was streaking in through the weathered shutters.<p>

She was willing to bet that neither Dean nor Gordon had spoken a word the entire time she'd been gone. When she stepped through the door, Dean looked up. "Find it?" he asked.

Jayne waved her distributor cap at him. "Yep." Then she tossed him his car keys, which she'd also found in the front of Gordon's El Camino. Dean caught them awkwardly, thrown off guard, and then smirked at them, obviously happy about their return.

Gordon refused to look at Dean. Jayne dropped the keys to the El Camino on the dining room sideboard, far from Gordon's reach. Then she leaned against the wall and folded her arms over her chest, waiting for Sam and her sister to return.

Dean kept pacing. Gordon lifted his hollow eyes from the floor, and Jayne felt his gaze sweep over her. She looked up and met his stare, standing straighter and raising a challenging eyebrow. Gordon's dark, empty, dangerous eyes stared back for a mere moment, and then he returned his gaze to the farmhouse floor.

She looked away too, wishing Sam and Lynn would get their asses back there already. Gordon was giving her the creeps again, and she wanted to leave.

A few minutes later, she heard the front door of the farmhouse creak open. Jayne pushed herself off the wall and peered into the next room. Dean quit his pacing, and came to stand by her shoulder. A few seconds later, Sam and Lynn appeared.

Jayne took a step back to allow the other two hunters into the room. Sam frowned at Gordon, and scratched his arm. "Did we miss anything?" he asked.

Lynn raised an eyebrow at that, and met Jayne's eyes behind the Winchesters' backs. Jayne simply shook her head and looked away.

"Nah, not much," Dean flat-out lied. Jayne rolled her eyes. "Lenore get out ok?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, and Jayne felt slightly relieved at that. It was an odd feeling, being relieved that a vampire had gotten away, but then again, this had been an odd hunt. "They _all _did," Sam added triumphantly, speaking this time to Gordon.

Gordon barely reacted. Sam stared at the other man, and Dean shrugged. "Then I guess our work here is done," he said.

Lynn looked at Jayne again, who said nothing to her. "How you doing, Gordy?" Dean mocked the other hunter. "Got to tinkle yet?"

Again, Gordon said nothing. Dean made his way around the chair and to the dining room table. "Well, all right. We'll call someone in two or three days, have them come out here and untie you."

Dean buried Gordon's knife in the wood of the table, far enough out of reach so that Gordon couldn't use it to escape. Lynn crinkled her nose at the idea of Gordon being left in the house for so long. Jayne wasn't entirely sure she gave a damn.

"Ready to go?" Sam asked his brother.

"Not yet," Dean replied, coming back around to face Gordon. "I guess this is good-bye," he said, scratching at his hair and affecting a sheepish laugh. Jayne frowned at Dean's back. "Well," Dean went on. "It's been real."

Then he hauled off and slugged Gordon in the face, much harder than was necessary. She heard a pained noise escape Gordon's throat, and then the chair toppled over backwards, taking its captive with it. Lynn winced noticeably beside her, one hand going up instinctively to her mouth. Jayne just rolled her eyes again, although inwardly Dean's actions made her cringe.

Sam scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. Dean stared down at Gordon a moment longer, and then sniffed heavily. "Ok, I'm good now," he announced. "We can go."

She watched him walk away from the scene, and out of the room. Sam chuckled slightly, and then followed him. It wasn't as funny as it should have been – it wasn't really funny at all, and Jayne didn't really know how to react to Dean at the moment.

Neither did Lynn, judging by the look she sent her as they walked out of the house, just behind the boys. Jayne shrugged at her, and tried not to give away exactly how similar she was feeling. Once they'd stepped out of the farmhouse and into the early morning light, Dean abruptly stopped walking.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Clock me one," he ordered, adjusting his stance to take the punch.

Lynn sighed harshly, rolling her eyes and shoving past him. "You've got to be kidding me."

Jayne didn't move. Sam frowned at his brother. "What?"

"Come on," Dean insisted. "I won't even hit you back. Let's go."

"_No_," Sam retorted incredulously, shaking his head at Dean like he thought his brother was an idiot. Which, hey… if the shoe fits…

"Let's go!" Dean exclaimed. "You get a freebie! Come on, hit me!"

Sam rolled his eyes and walked away. "You look like you just went twelve rounds with a block of cement, Dean! I'll take a rain check."

Jayne stared at Dean's back. He glanced at her, and then started walking after his brother. Jayne followed the other three hunters towards the Impala. "I wish we'd never took this job," Dean said suddenly, leaning on the roof of the car. "It's jacked everything up."

She shook her head, glaring at the dust. "Yeah," she heard Lynn mutter as she swung open the back door. "You can say that again."

Sam didn't look like he got what the big deal was. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Dean didn't answer right away, and Jayne didn't really need him to. She got it, and so did Lynn. Sam was the only one who looked confused. If she hadn't needed Sam to drive her back to her truck, she might have just walked away. The last thing she wanted was to be privy to this conversation.

"Think about every hunt we've ever been on, Sam, our whole lives," Dean finally said.

Sam frowned and leaned on the car too. "Ok."

Jayne opened the back door, but didn't get in. Her sister had done the same, having only put one foot in the car, and was now leaning precariously on the back door. Jayne drummed her fingers on the side of the car, and stared into the backseat.

"What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing?" Dean asked, and Jayne squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the top of the car door. He'd _had_ to say it out loud. And of course, he _had_ to keep going. "I mean, the way Dad raised us…"

"Dean, after what happened to Mom, Dad was just going the best he could," Sam interrupted, trying to defend John Winchester and soothe Dean's concerns in one breath. It didn't work.

"I know he did. But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us to hate those things… and man, I _hate_ them. I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill, I didn't even think about it. Hell, I _enjoyed_ it."

Sam shrugged. "You didn't kill Lenore," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but I wanted to," Dean retorted. "I mean, every instinct told me to. I was going to kill her – I was going to kill them all."

"Yeah, but you didn't."

"Hey, let's not talk about this anymore," Jayne spoke up suddenly.

Everyone stared at her. She shrugged. "Well, there's no point," she insisted, and she knew she was right, even if she also knew she was taking the coward's way out. Honestly, thinking about it, talking about it – it just made this kind of crap worse. "So… so maybe we've killed a few things, and maybe some of them were like Lenore, but… hell, this is our job, ok? And ninety percent of what's out there deserves to be wasted. So… I don't know. What good is second-guessing going to do us?"

"You called it, though," Dean frowned, looking her in the eye. She squirmed uncomfortably. "You said Gordon was full of crap."

"Because he was full of crap," she retorted. "And any other day, you probably would have seen it. Anyway, what does it matter? I didn't like the bastard, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to kill Lenore."

It was the truth, too. She _had_ wanted to kill Lenore. The moment she saw those teeth… but she was big on fine lines and shaky distinctions, and so she probably wasn't being fair to Dean right now. Maybe he was right, and maybe she really didn't get how he felt. Determining right from wrong… she wasn't entirely sure it was a strong suit of hers. Dean always seemed to know, instinctively, which was which. To have it all turned on its head…

"We should go," Lynn spoke up. "Jayne's right, anyway… they were vampires. Of course we thought about killing them."

Dean shook his head, because none of that was the point. It wasn't _thinking_ about killing them that was the problem – it was about _wanting _to kill them. Jayne knew enough to get that. Hell, she bet Lynn knew it too. She could tell from her sister's voice that she didn't really buy what she was attempting to sell.

Still, they all got in the car and they shut up about it. She was glad, because dwelling on what had happened here was the last thing she wanted to do. Thinking about anything that made her uncomfortable was the last thing she wanted to do. She shoved it down, deep inside her, with all the other thoughts and feelings that made her uncomfortable, and pretended like everything was going to work out fine.

She wasn't fooling anyone, not even herself. Things had been far from fine for a long while now, and she knew deep down they weren't about to get any better.

* * *

><p>It had been a long drive out of Red lodge, Montana. After swinging by the motel, picking up their things and grabbing Jayne's truck, the four hunters had hit the road and hadn't stopped driving until they were a full day's drive away from the place that had fucked everything up.<p>

That's what Dean was calling Red Lodge now. He'd had nothing but time and open road all day, and he'd used it all to reflect rather bitterly back on the hunt they'd just wrapped up. Now, after fifteen hours of driving, they were holed up for the night in a place called Fort Dodge, Iowa. Once they'd checked in, Sam had vanished almost immediately, saying he and Lynn were going to grab a drink at the nearby bar and go over their options for the next hunt. Usually, Dean would have been all about a pit stop at a bar, but that night he'd just grunted a goodbye, and stayed in the morel.

He hadn't stayed put long. An hour later, he'd ducked out of the room and walked two doors down the hall. Then he'd knocked on the door and waited.

The motel room door swung open. Dean opted for a smirk. Jayne just stood there in the frame, blinking at him in mild surprise.

"What?" she practically grunted.

To be perfectly honest, Dean wasn't sure why he was there, or what it was he wanted to say. He'd simply been feeling that hollow feeling again, and instinctively he'd come to her.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

She shrugged, and stepped back from the door, silently inviting him in with a sweep of her arm. Dean ducked inside and she let the door fall shut behind him.

Jayne crossed the room, headed for the small fridge. "Beer?" she offered.

Dean stood awkwardly by the door, and replied with a shrug of his own. "Yeah, sure."

"Too bad," she replied, taking out a clear bottle full of amber colored whiskey. "All I've got is this."

He smirked again. "Actually, that sounds even better."

Jayne tossed him a smirk of her own over her shoulder, and then turned her back on him as she retrieved two glasses. Dean watched her set the tumblers down on the dresser and pour them a couple of drinks. She looked slightly different than normal – she'd shed her flannel and was wearing only a wife beater; she'd undone her hair and let it hang loosely down her back. Dean's eyes roved her backside, and for a moment he thought about going back down that road the two of them had been on before his father died.

She turned around then and walked over to him. Dean took the glass she offered. "So," she said, sipping on her drink. "What do you want?"

He blinked at her a moment. She stared evenly back. Dean chuckled dryly and took a gulp of the whiskey. "Nothing," he replied.

"I don't buy that," she retorted. "You came here looking to talk, I can tell."

"I don't want to talk."

There was silence. Jayne turned away from him and headed to the other side of the room. "All right," she murmured. "Don't talk."

He watched her flop down on one of the beds and snatch the remote off the nightstand. She turned on the TV and started channel surfing. Dean stood awkwardly by the door a moment longer and then slowly moved towards the other bed. He took a seat on the very edge and stared at the TV too.

Several minutes passed in silence, save the sound of the TV. Dean drank from his glass. Jayne sighed harshly, shut off the television, and threw down the remote. He looked up at her in surprise, and she sat up straight, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"If you're not going to talk, then I'm going to talk," she informed him. "Don't get me wrong – I'd love to pretend none of this crap ever happened, but… dude, who _were_ you out there?"

Dean blinked at her again, shocked into speechlessness. Jayne barreled on without his input. "You were leaping to conclusions, not bothering to get all the information, trusting some random we picked up in an alleyway, no questions asked… and let's not even get started on how trigger happy you were."

"Are you done lecturing me?" he snapped. "Mom?"

"Don't 'Mom' me, jackass," she retorted. "You were a mess out there. A liability."

The words hit home, and Dean swallowed down an angry retort. He frowned at the floor, his fingers tightening around his glass. Jayne shook her head, clearly exasperated. "You don't need to tell me what's going on with you," she went on. "Hell, I don't really need to know; I've got a pretty good idea, anyway. What I need is for you to promise me you aren't going to pull any more shit like that."

Dean swallowed too hard and tucked his chin. She stared straight at him, her gaze never wavering. Finally, Dean nodded and lifted his chin, meeting her eyes. "All right," he murmured. "You're right. I… I promise."

She kept staring at him, just a moment longer. Then she nodded. "Ok," she said softly.

Then she tilted her head away from him, casting her eyes on the floor, and took a heavy gulp of her whiskey. Dean watched her, and then sipped on his drink too. They sat there in silence again, watching the minutes slip away on the digital alarm clock.

Jayne looked up at him again, and Dean met her eyes. She shook her head slightly. "I guess asking you exactly what's been eating away at you for the past few weeks would be completely pointless," she announced. "Right?"

Dean didn't look away. "I'm fine," he replied. "Really."

"No, you're not," she returned. "But… I'm not going to keep bothering you about it. I just… when you're ready to…"

Slowly, Dean raised his eyebrow at her. Jayne swallowed, trailing off and shaking her head again. "You know," she said.

"Where you'll be?" he supplied. "Yeah, I will."

The silence happened again, and Dean found himself wondering if it would really be so terrible to confide in her. She was right, of course; they were all right. Dean was not ok. His father was gone, and that was only part of it. It was the weight of his father's death – the certainty that he had somehow been responsible. Dean knew his father had done _something_ to save him; no one survived a natural attack by a reaper. Whatever his father had done had cost the man his life.

He couldn't say it out loud, even though deep down he was pretty sure Jayne and everyone else thought the same things he did. Again, however, there was more. The things his father had said before he'd died… Dean couldn't stop thinking about them. He couldn't stop replaying that final conversation over and over in his head. Every once in awhile he felt a strong urge to repeat that conversation to Jayne; to let her share the load. But he couldn't do it. The things his father had said about Sammy… they applied to Steve Juarez too. And knowing that, knowing what sort of burden he'd be laying on her shoulders…

That wasn't even it, not really. That excuse was shallow, if he were being honest. Sure, he didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to tell her the things that were keeping him awake at night. But that wasn't all there was to his silence. Saying it out loud; somehow, that would make it just too real.

Dean really didn't want any of it to be real.

He rearranged himself on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Jayne did the same on her bed, and turned the TV back on. The two of them said nothing else; they simply watched the TV and drank their whiskey.

He considered that silence a small reprieve – one that was unlikely to come again.

* * *

><p>The night had been a miserable failure when Lynn thought back to what Sam had claimed as their original goal; one drink over research, so they could pick out a new hunt and then head off to investigate the job the very next day. But the research had never happened, and one drink had become eight, and then… well, then Lynn had rather lost count.<p>

She felt kind of bad about the whole thing. Honestly, she did. Sam had never been the party hard type, and he'd been dealing with his father's death in his own way – whatever that way was. To be perfectly honest – again – Lynn had no idea what Sam's own way entailed. In fact, she wasn't entirely convinced he was dealing at all.

Still, that was no excuse for turning the poor boy into an alcoholic.

The conversation from earlier that night was blurry, and Lynn couldn't remember talking about anything of importance. They'd tried to pick a new hunt over the first couple of drinks, but with their latest hunt still fresh, neither of them was in a killing evil mood. Once they'd started in on the third drink, the idea of hunting had been entirely put aside, and suddenly Lynn was telling Sam stories about high school, and he was telling her stories about Stanford.

They'd basically talked bullshit all night, the talk interspersed with the ordering and consuming of strong drinks. Both of them had carefully skirted the big issues – the past hunt, the vampires, Gordon, John…

It was late now, and Lynn was carefully guiding Sam across the parking lot, towards his motel room. Even though her vision was blurry and her head was foggy, Sam was still leaning heavily on her shoulder, stumbling his way towards the motel. He laughed too loudly, and the sound echoed around the too still parking lot.

"This is ridiculous," he slurred. "Why do you always do this to me?"

Lynn lifted her head towards his, and the movement made her slightly dizzy. "Do what to you?" she asked, smiling so wide it made her face hurt.

"Get me wasted."

She laughed. "I don't know… I guess because it's so easy?"

He snorted, trying to look offended. He failed. "Shut up."

They reached his motel room and Sam handed over the keys without prompting. Lynn unlocked the door and then pushed it open for him. Sam stumbled over the threshold and Lynn automatically reached for him, awkwardly catching him before he hit the floor. He leaned so heavily on her, he nearly knocked her down. They adjusted their positions, and then Lynn steered him towards one of the beds.

Her eyes roved over the room. A single lamp had been left on, but Dean was nowhere in sight - although Lynn had a good feeling about where she might find him. She pushed Sam at the bed, and he practically fell onto it. He collapsed against the pillow, hand over his face, and Lynn rolled her eyes as she swung his feet up onto the mattress.

"Lynn?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

She raised her eyebrow. "What?"

He leaned forward, unexpectedly, and Lynn frowned in surprise. Before she could react, he'd pressed his lips against hers. Instinctively, she reacted by pressing back. Sam pushed himself up farther off the mattress, enveloping her face with one large hand. He pulled her in closer, his wet mouth pressing harder against hers, opening slightly as his tongue slipped out.

Lynn jerked back and gave him a soft push. In his inebriated state, it was enough to topple him back on the bed. "No," she ordered. "I mean… no, Sam, we can't do that again."

Sam frowned up at her. "Why?" he retorted.

It was a good question, but Lynn had a better answer. She brushed some hair out of his eyes and offered him a smile. "Because I can't be that girl for you anymore."

Sam sighed and looked away. Lynn tucked her chin and stared down at the ugly carpet.

"OK," he agreed.

She frowned at that, not sure she understood what he was agreeing to, or what that 'ok' really meant. Sam lay down all the way again and closed his eyes. "Good night," he murmured.

"Good night," she said softly.

He passed out quickly. Lynn watched him toss about on the bed for a moment before he finally settled in for a few hours of sleep. Then she sighed and got to her feet, stumbling slightly as she stood.

She crossed to the boys' small fridge in the corner and swung the door open. There were a few beers in there, and she grabbed one. Leaning heavily against the dresser, she unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, squinting at Sam.

Her head kind of hurt and she was getting tired, but mostly she was annoyed and unaccountably unhappy. She didn't know exactly what she wanted – unfortunately, she rarely did – but she wasn't about to deny that she'd felt that familiar, thrilling tingle when Sam had kissed her a moment before.

Acknowledging the tingle didn't really make her happy though. She wasn't sure what it made her. All she knew was that this hunt had brought up lots of things she didn't want to think about – the possibility that all supernatural things were not evil, the undeniable spiral both Winchester boys were engaged in due to John's death, and the difficult situation she and her sister found themselves in because of it.

She took another long, heavy gulp of her stolen beer, and then shoved herself off the dresser. Drink in hand, she tottered unsteadily towards the door. One thing was for certain – she needed to get the hell out of that room and stop watching Sam Winchester sleep.

Drunkenly she swung open the door and stumbled out into the night.

* * *

><p>The hard, cheap motel headboard was digging uncomfortably into Jayne's back. She shifted slightly and glanced at the other bed. Dean had fallen asleep already, his head tilted in an awkward position and his boots dropping dust on the ugly motel comforter.<p>

Sighing, she turned off the TV and sat up, rolling her shoulders to work out the painful kinks in her back. Dean didn't stir. For a moment, she stared down at him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, her eyes tracing lines over his taut, strained face. Even as he slept, the stress was evident. He looked twice his age.

Slowly, she got up and snatched her motel-issue tumbler off the nightstand. Then she crossed to the dresser where the television stood. Her open bottle of whiskey still sat there, and Jayne placed her tumbler beside it, taking the whiskey bottle by the neck and pouring herself another generous helping of the bitter stuff. She turned around and looked at Dean again, leaning against the dresser as she took a sip of her drink.

He was still sleeping, and Jayne felt her chest tighten and constrict at the sight of him. She felt awkward and uncomfortable and could not figure out what to do. As much as she wanted to fix it – fix the guilt, fix the grief, fix the way he felt – there was an even more powerful urge to _run_.

She'd been feeling it more and more lately – the need to bail, to leave, to get far, far away from Dean and Sam and all their drama. God, the Winchesters couldn't even hunt _vampires_ without turning her life upside down. It would be so much easier if she could just go back to the way things were – when it was just her and Lynn, no Dean, no Sam, no complicated feelings that she couldn't even explain to herself…

She took a deep breath and pushed herself off the dresser. In seconds she was out the door and inhaling the fresh air just a little too deeply. Jayne leaned on the railing that separated the open air hall from the parking lot and blinked a few times, giving her head a cleansing shake. Then she threw back another heavy gulp of her whiskey.

The creaking of a door sounded behind her. Jayne glanced over her shoulder and found Lynn sneaking out of the room next door. There was a beer in her hand, and from the way she stumbled over the threshold, Jayne would bet it wasn't her first one.

Lynn looked surprised to see her. "Hey," she said.

"Hey," Jayne grunted back.

Her stepsister sighed through her teeth and practically fell into the railing beside her. Jayne raised an eyebrow as Lynn leaned on her elbows and took a gulp from her bottle. "This sucks," Lynn announced.

Jayne lowered her eyes to her drink. "You got that right."

"Sam's all drunk and passed out now."

"Mm-hmm."

"Dean too?"

"Nah. Just normal passed out. Sleeping."

Lynn nodded. Neither of them spoke for awhile – they just stood out on the porch, leaning on the rail and sipping their drinks. After a while, Lynn heaved a harsh sigh. "Do you ever just want to leave?" she asked.

Jayne blinked. "Leave?" she repeated.

"Yeah, you know… bail. Ditch them. Go our own way or whatever."

A small smirk twitched around the corners of Jayne's mouth. "All the time," she admitted.

"Oh, good," Lynn breathed. "So it's not just me."

"No. It's not just you."

They fell silent again. Jayne fidgeted from foot to foot, her eyes trained on her whiskey. "You know," she began hesitantly. "We could. Bail, that is."

Lynn frowned at her. "You mean leave them? Just pick up and disappear on Sam and Dean in the dead of night or whatever?"

Jayne shrugged. "Sure. One way to do it. Why not?"

"Well, if we left in the middle of the night without telling them, they'd probably come looking for us."

"All right, fine. We tell them. Then bail."

Lynn laughed slightly, and then sobered. "Are you serious?" she frowned.

Jayne didn't answer right away. She stared at her drink for a moment, and then shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

"We can't really leave, you know."

"Yes, actually we could. That's the point."

Lynn stared at her for a moment. Jayne refused to meet her eyes. After a long silence, Lynn shrugged and tore her eyes away.

"If you're ready to move on," she said. "Then I'm not going to argue. But as much as we might want to leave, it's not exactly in the spirit of friendship to bail on your friends when they need you the most."

The words hit home, and Jayne squeezed her eyes shut, fighting off a wave of claustrophobia. "I know," she agreed. "I didn't really mean it."

Except she had meant it. She'd mean it a lot. She really _did_ want to leave – there was a little voice in her head ordering her to _run, run, run,_ over and over again. Still, she stayed, because as much as she wanted to bail, there was something keeping her there, with Sam and Dean. What it was, she didn't entirely know. Hell, it might have been her conscience.

But whatever it was in her that wanted to stay, it was slightly more powerful than the part of her that wanted to bail. "They need us," she said out loud, although she both felt and sounded uncertain.

Lynn nodded slowly, staring at the side of her face. "Yeah," she agreed. "I guess they do."

The two of them fell into silence again, sipping their drinks. For a long time, they stood outside the motel, and Jayne tried to pretend that there wasn't anyone inside, tried to keep contemplating the possibility of running away.

Still, as much as she wanted to run, she wanted even more to stay. And out of all the scary, confusing feelings she'd been feeling lately, that one was the most terrifying of all.


	5. Rock Steady

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to angeleyenc, SPN Mum, ThreeMoons3, AshlynPaige92, ColtFan165 and Nelle07 for the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 5: Rock Steady<p>

"Come on, Sam, I'm begging you. This is stupid."

Dean's voice was sudden and abrupt, the first sound Sam had heard in nearly an hour, besides the roar of the Impala's engine as it tore down the highway towards Manhattan, Kansas. Slightly startled, Sam looked up at his brother and frowned in genuine confusion.

"Why?" he retorted.

He watched Dean raise his eyebrows. "Going to visit Mom's grave? I mean, she doesn't even have a grave! Ok? There was no body left after the fire."

"Well, she has a headstone," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, put up by her uncle, a man we never even met! So, what, you want to go pay your respects to slab of granite put up by a stranger? Come on."

Dean was right about their mother's body, Sam conceded silently, and he was right about the headstone. Manhattan, Kansas was over an hour's drive from Lawrence, so their mother's gravesite wasn't even close to where she'd lived and died. But none of that was important – at least, not to Sam.

"Dean, that's not the point," he informed his brother.

"Well, then enlighten me, Sam."

"It's not about a body or a casket! It's about her memory, ok?"

Dean nodded, but the expression on his face didn't match the gesture. Sam kept pushing. "And after what happened with Dad, it just feels like the right thing to do."

"It's irrational, is what it is."

"Look, man, no one asked you to come."

There was a pause. Dean changed tracks. "Why don't we swing by the Roadhouse instead?" he suggested. "I mean, we haven't heard anything on the demon lately… we should be hunting that son of a bitch down."

"That's a good idea," Sam replied. "You should. Just drop me off, I'll hitch a ride, and I'll meet you there tomorrow."

Dean snorted. "Right. Be stuck with those people, making awkward small talk until you show up. No thanks."

Sam resisted the urge to smirk at his brother's response. "Well, you don't have to go alone," he pointed out. "Maybe Jayne or Lynn would come. Or both of them, even. I doubt they want to visit Mom's grave. I mean… it's not like they knew her or anything."

Really, they didn't know Mary Winchester – at all. Sam honestly had no idea why they had agreed to come. They could have split up for a day or two. Jayne and Lynn could have swung by the Hannigan place, or checked in with their brother. Yet they'd agreed to come along and see Mary Winchester's grave. It was bizarre.

Dean shrugged, determinedly keeping his eyes on the road. "Whatever. We're almost there, anyhow."

Sam wasn't fooled by his brother's arguments, or his attitude, or his excuses. Deep down, Dean wanted to see their mother's grave as much as Sam did. He was certain of it.

Well, he was mostly certain. The two of them lapsed into silence, and Sam glanced in the side mirror at the gray pickup trailing along behind them.

Just a quick stop, he told himself. A brief moment at the gravesite, a chance to drop off Dad's dog tags… and then they could get back on the trail of the demon. Finding the demon was important. Still, revenge didn't happen overnight, and there was a certain protocol when it came to grief that one was expected to follow. Not following it led to not moving on, and not moving on was unhealthy. Ask anyone. Hell, ask Sam specifically. He knew all about it, and Dean did too, which was why Dean's resistance to visiting the grave was such a surprise to Sam. Dean knew better. After all, it had been Dean who'd told him in the days that followed Jess's death that he had to keep moving, had to keep living… had to learn to carry the anger long haul, because revenge took time, and if he wasn't careful that anger could kill him.

As far as Sam was concerned, it was high time for Dean to take his own advice.

* * *

><p>The sun was seriously bright, and Lynn adjusted the visor over the passenger seat to block it from her eyes. She glanced across the truck cab at her sister, who had her eyes focused on the asphalt under their front bumper.<p>

"Why are we doing this?" Lynn asked.

Jayne's eyes darted towards her momentarily, and then returned to the road. "Doing what?"

"Visiting Mary Winchester's grave. We don't have to be a part of this, you know."

"I know."

Silence consumed the cab. Lynn stared at her sister again, who refused to speak or even move. Finally, Lynn released a harsh sigh and flopped back hard against the seat. "Look, grave visiting was never your thing. To be honest, not so sure it was ever mine either. We could be doing something else right now. We could pop over to the Pub and see Rufus and Deedee; we could go check in on Steve; hell, we could track down Danny."

"Mm-hmm."

"We haven't heard from Ash since we left the Roadhouse all those weeks ago. We could be heading out there and seeing what's up with the demon."

Jayne said nothing. Lynn groaned in frustration. "Look, I'm not so sure we're welcome here. It feels like an intrusion."

The observation got nothing out of her sister. "Jayne," Lynn insisted. "Why are we doing this?"

"Hey, blame yourself," Jayne returned smoothly. "You were the one over there with all your 'we can't just bail on them right now' talk. So, this is me. Not bailing."

"Not bailing on them doesn't mean never leaving them either."

"I know."

Jayne fell silent after that, and Lynn found it impossible to get her talking again. She sighed one more time and slouched in the seat, folding her arms over her chest and glaring out the window.

This was going to be the longest twenty-four hours of her life.

* * *

><p>Dean was uncomfortable.<p>

This stupid cemetery was making him uncomfortable. Sure, the sun was out and the air was warm, and the little place was pretty and peaceful and whatnot, but it was still awkward to be poking his way through the fresh cut grass and scanning the epitaphs emblazoned on headstone after headstone. Sam was across the way, kneeling before their mother's grave, and Dean flat out refused to get involved in that sure-to-be embarrassing moment of man tears.

He knew exactly what his brother was doing over there – Sam hadn't kept it a secret. Privately, Dean didn't think it was such a bad idea – but he couldn't help fixating on the fact that there was no body under that headstone. It was still strange to him that Sam thought _this_ spot was the best place to bury Dad's dog tags.

Lynn was over there too, lurking around the headstone, far enough away to be giving Sam his privacy, but close enough to come off as creepy. Dean shook his head and continued his march through the graveyard.

A small dead tree to his left caught his eye. Frowning, Dean made his way over to the plant to study it. He rapped his knuckles against the hollow trunk. Then he took a step back from the dead tree and glanced down at the ground under his feet.

The grass was dead. Grayish brown and very, very dead. Dean looked all around him, his frown deepening as he noticed that the dead grass had formed a large, perfect circle, with the dead tree sitting right on the edge of it. Also on the edge of the circle sat a temporary grave marker, not far from the tree, decorated with a bouquet of dried out, dead flowers.

He frowned at the marker and knelt in the circle of dead grass. The name on the small, white, laminated sign read 'Angela Mason.'

"Well, that's weird," Jayne's voice sounded out from behind him. Dean jumped slightly, and then glared at her over his shoulder. Her blonde head stood out sharply against the bright blue sky behind her. She wasn't looking at him; her eyes were trained on the circle of dead plants. Slowly, Dean stood up again.

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly," he informed her.

She nodded, and met his eyes. "So, what do you think?" she asked. "Flying saucer?"

Dean blinked at her. She smirked. He shook his head and sneered. "Ha," he retorted. Then he turned his back on her and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" she called after him.

"To talk to the groundskeeper."

"Seriously?"

He stopped walking and turned around to face her, furrowing his eyebrows incredulously. "Uh… yeah. Do you not see the weird circle of dead things around the fresh grave?"

"Yeah, I see it," she retorted. "It's weird; don't get me wrong, just… it's not exactly jump-out-of-your-closet-and-yell-boo weird. You know?"

Dean shrugged. "Whatever. I'm going to talk to the groundskeeper."

He turned away and started walking again. This time, he heard her footsteps behind him, and moments later she appeared at his side, walking with him towards the cemetery offices.

"I thought this wasn't weird enough for you," he couldn't help saying.

Jayne shrugged this time. "I didn't say that."

He kept waiting for it – he really did. She must have noticed he hadn't gone anywhere near his mother's grave. She clearly thought he was reading too much into the circle of dead grass. So he waited for her to say it – to say something about his mother, or his father. To pick at the scab and demand he talk about the injury, just like Sam would.

She didn't say a thing.

It was good, Dean decided. He didn't want to talk about it anyway. Dead parents and Jayne's snarky commentary aside, the circle around the young woman's grave was plenty weird enough for him.

Something evil had happened here, and it was his job to figure out what.

* * *

><p>Jayne wasn't sure what to think about this whole stupid situation.<p>

Lynn had been right, for one thing – grave visiting was so not her thing. It definitely wasn't Dean's either. This whole thing had Sam written all over it. To be honest, the reason she'd agreed to come out here was all about Dean – she really didn't know how this place was going to mess with his already screwed up head.

She hated feeling so obligated to him right now – so worried about his mental state that she willingly drove out to places she had no business being, such as Mary Winchester's grave. Still, here she was. Sam had said his piece over Mary's headstone, Lynn had lurked around in her anxious, nervous way, and Dean had avoided the grave like it was a breeding ground for swine flu. Instead, he'd found his way over to the newly dug grave of local college student, Angela Mason, where he'd found a circle of dead grass, and a dead tree, and a bouquet of dead flowers. You'd think Angela Mason herself had popped out of the ground and shrieked at him, the way he was going on about it.

Not that she was ready to write the thing off – no, it was definitely suspicious. She just wasn't sure if it was _as_ suspicious as Dean seemed to think it was.

He was standing over by the grave at the moment, talking to the groundskeeper under the dead tree. The sunlight bounced off the too-green grass, and the small trees planted around the lot cast shadows over Dean and the groundskeeper. Jayne glanced at the other two hunters standing near her. Sam was leaning on a headstone to her left, shaking his head and looking pissed off about the whole thing. Lynn was chewing on her lip, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"It's dead grass," her sister finally offered, seeming to deflate as she turned to look at Jayne.

Jayne shrugged at her. "In a perfect circle," she pointed out.

Lynn crinkled her nose, and then nodded. "Right. So… kind of weird."

"Yeah," Sam grumbled. "Kind of being the operative term."

Jayne ignored him. Dean had finished his conversation with the groundskeeper by now and was headed their way. "Angela Mason," the eldest Winchester announced once he'd reached the rest of them. "Student at the local college. Funeral was three days ago."

He'd already started walking towards the Impala, and the rest of them fell easily into his stride. Sam shrugged at Dean's proclamation. "And?" he asked.

Dean gaped incredulously at his brother. "And?" he repeated. "You saw her grave – everything dead around it!"

Sam shrugged again. "Maybe the groundskeeper went a little agro with the pesticides."

"No, I asked him, I asked him. No pesticides, no chemicals… nobody can explain it."

Jayne mulled over that new piece of information, quietly nodding to herself. It was starting to look a little more like a case. Sam made a face when Dean wasn't looking, however, clearly not onboard yet. "OK, so… what are you thinking?" he asked.

"I don't know. Unholy ground, maybe?"

Sam stopped short. Even Jayne had to admit that was a bit of a leap. "Unholy…" Sam began, and then trailed off, staring at Dean in shock.

"What?" Dean demanded. "If something evil happened there, it could easily poison the ground. Remember that farm outside of Cedar Rapids?"

Jayne did not remember any farm outside of Cedar Rapids. Sam did, apparently. "Yeah," he replied, still looking unconvinced.

Dean shrugged. "Could be the sign of a demonic presence." Sam wasn't impressed. Dean kept going. "Or the Angela girl's spirit, if it's powerful enough."

Sam barely reacted. He frowned, glanced back at the grave, and then walked away, still headed for the car. Dean followed, looking pissed. "Well, don't get too excited," he said. "You might pull something."

"It's just… stumbling onto a hunt? Here, of all places?"

"So?"

"So… are you sure this is about a hunt, and not about something else?"

The four of them had reached their vehicles now, and Jayne was sorely tempted to bolt for her truck without looking back. Dean leaned on the roof of his car, glaring at Sam. "What else would it be about?"

Sam shook his head and sighed, opening the passenger side door. "Just forget it."

"Believe what you want, Sam," Dean bit out. "But I let you drag my ass out here. The least we can do is check this out."

Sam looked only slightly abashed. "Yeah, fine."

"The girl's dad works in town. He's a professor at the school."

Both boys climbed into the car and slammed their doors. Jayne rolled her eyes and shook her head before stomping off towards Janis. Lynn followed her. They clambered up into the truck cab, and then Jayne turned over the engine, following the Impala as it rumbled its way along the narrow, winding gray road that led out of the cemetery.

"This already sucks," Lynn lamented with a sigh.

Jayne shrugged, keeping her eyes on the Impala's back bumper. "Yeah. Saw that coming."

"So, what's your take?" Lynn asked, propping her elbow up against the window. "Unholy ground or more denial ala Dean?"

Jayne blew hair out of her eyes. "I don't know. The grave looks weird, I grant Dean that."

"Sam's right, you know. It _is_ just a patch of dead grass."

"A patch of dead grass in a perfect circle," Jayne reminded her sister. "That's not your run of the mill gardening accident."

"Agreed," Lynn murmured. "But it's maybe not as weird as Dean seems to think. Unholy ground? Kind of a leap."

"Yeah, that's not exactly garden-variety ghost hunt material," Jayne admitted. "He might be reaching."

"You think this is about something else?"

"Like?"

"Like… Mary Winchester's grave?"

Jayne sighed. "I don't know. Maybe it is a little. But… that grave looked suspicious. I'm going with a little of both."

Lynn huffed in annoyance. "I am getting so sick of this."

"What?"

"Being the only two rational people in a ten mile radius. What is up with them? You've got Dean refusing to visit his mother's headstone, and then you've got Sam refusing to take the blinders off and see a hunt for a hunt. I just…"

Lynn trailed off and sighed, glaring out the passenger side window. "I keep waiting for things to get better," she said. "They aren't."

"Well, it ain't about to happen overnight," Jayne informed her.

"I know that. But… I just… they are stressing me out!"

Jayne chuckled under her breath. "Yeah, you and me both."

The two of them fell silent after that. Jayne ran her tongue over her teeth and kept her eyes trained on the pavement, trying to slip into hunter mode and forget all about the other crap accompanying this particular job – if it even was a job.

Lynn wasn't the only one getting tired of the same old scene, hunt after hunt, ever since John's death. Jayne was plenty tired too.

Things would get better, she told herself. They had to.

* * *

><p>Lynn sighed, stepping down from the cab of Jayne's truck and slamming the door behind her. It was cooler out than before, and clouds had rolled in across the sky. She folded her arms over her chest as Jayne got out of the truck and joined her on the sidewalk.<p>

Parked along the curb in front of them was Dean's Impala. The boys stepped out of their car as Lynn and her sister strode down the walk, weaving in and out of the passing college students. Dean and Sam joined them, and the four hunters headed up the front steps to the red brick and white-pillared university building that housed Dr. Mason's office.

It was even grayer and more depressing inside the building than outside. They crossed the dark, dreary hall with its unnatural, greenish linoleum floor tiles, and then waited impatiently for the elevator. Lynn wrinkled her nose in distaste when the elevator finally arrived and the hunters got on board. It was dark in there too, and the floor was covered in ugly maroon carpeting.

The four of them didn't speak in the elevator due to the presence of another faculty member. When they reached the right floor, they stepped out into the dim gray hallway, with the same greenish linoleum from the entrance. The hall was lined with warped, foggy privacy glass. Lynn squinted at the glass doors as they walked down the hall, finally spotting one that read "Dr. Mason."

Dean was the one who knocked. The four hunters waited patiently in the hallway until the door swung open. The man on the other side of the threshold was short and balding, and had huge bags under his eyes. He frowned at the four hunters framed in his doorway, and Lynn immediately felt bad about bothering the poor man.

"Dr. Mason?" Dean inquired.

"Yes," the man replied.

"My name is Sam," Sam spoke up.

"I'm Lynn," Lynn cut in. "And this is Jayne and Dean. We were friends of Angela's."

"Yes," Sam swooped back in. "And we wanted to offer our condolences."

Lynn nodded as Sam finished his explanation, trying to force her face into a pleasant, but sympathetic smile. It was harder than she'd thought it would be. Jayne lurked behind her, of course, probably avoiding eye contact with the grieving father altogether.

"Please," Dr. Mason said, stepping back from the door. "Come in."

The four of them stepped into the room, and Dr. Mason shut the door behind them. Lynn hooked her thumbs on her belt loops and slowly wandered along the wall, her eyes roving over the professor's numerous bookshelves. They were dark, like everything else in the building, and they lined the walls floor to ceiling. His desk stood on the other end of the room, under a large window.

Sam engaged the man in conversation as Dean snooped around the office. Jayne was practically hiding in the corner of the room, having nothing to contribute to the talk. Lynn wasn't going to lie – she didn't have a lot to say either. The man's daughter was dead. That wasn't exactly something easy to talk about.

Somehow though, Sam got the Dr. Mason talking. He even got the man to sit down with him at his desk with a freaking photo album. Lynn hesitantly took a seat nearby, folding one leg over the other, and tried to look interested in the pictures splayed out on the desktop.

"She was beautiful," Sam observed.

"Yes," Dr. Mason murmured. "She was."

Lynn couldn't argue with this assessment of the late Angela Mason. The girl appearing in photo after photo was young, tall and lithe, with an olive complexion, high cheekbones, dark eyes, and dark, wavy hair. In every photo she was smiling.

She didn't look like the sort of girl whose grave could be unholy ground.

Lynn offered the poor man a small, sympathetic smile, and tried to think up something comforting to say. Dean interrupted her before she could open her mouth. "This is an unusual book," he announced from his corner of the room, where he was leaning against one of the shelves. Lynn glanced his way and took note of the large, dark leather bound book in his hands. Across the front cover were several odd white symbols.

Dr. Mason looked vaguely annoyed at Dean. "It's ancient Greek," he explained politely. "I teach a course."

Dean looked only slightly mollified by that statement, and returned his eyes to the book. Lynn swooped in, hoping to speed this interview up and get them all out the door before Dean had any more chances to make everyone feel uncomfortable. "It must be really hard," she murmured. "Not having her around anymore."

The professor swallowed, and Lynn watched the bob of his Adam's apple with a sinking, sickened feeling. Still, she continued. "I know when my mother died, I could still… sense her. It was like she was still around… sometimes. Do you know what I mean?"

It was a flat out lie, obviously. Lynn didn't even remember life with her mother. She could have said father, she supposed, but the last thing this already explosive environment needed was another shout-out to dead fathers. The lie was easier. It kept them all from getting too close. Sam disapproved, however – she could tell from the frown he directed at her over Dr. Mason's bald head.

"I do, as a matter of fact," the professor replied quietly, a small, sad smile forming on his lips.

She couldn't see Dean's reaction – he was standing behind her – but she didn't need to see him to know he was smirking triumphantly at Sam. Sam offered his brother a glare that Dr. Mason couldn't see. "That's perfectly normal, Dr. Mason, with everything you've been going through," he said tightly.

"You know, I still phone her," the professor confessed. "The phone's already ringing before I remember…"

He trailed off, his eyes on the photo album, and swallowed once again. Lynn squirmed in her chair, feeling guilty. "Family is everything, you know?" he went on. "Angie was the most important thing in my life. And now… I'm just lost without her."

His chin was trembling, and Lynn swallowed hard at the sight of the older man fighting tears. She looked down at the tabletop, and Dean tilted his head away. Jayne stayed by her corner, inches from the door, now twice as ready to bolt.

Sam frowned, clearly disappointed in all of them. "We're very sorry," he told the professor.

They didn't stay long after that. Dr. Mason no longer wanted their company anyway. After a few more hollow words of comfort, followed by awkward goodbyes, the four hunters exited the office and headed back for their vehicles.

It wasn't until they were back in the truck, following behind the Impala as they searched for a motel, that Jayne actually spoke. "He doesn't sound all that haunted to me," she murmured in a hoarse voice. "Just… sad."

"Yeah," Lynn agreed quietly, examining the backs of her hands. "So… you think Sam's right? There's no hunt here?"

"I don't really know," Jayne replied. "But I kind of feel like an asshole for harassing that poor old guy."

"Me too," Lynn admitted.

They fell quiet again. Lynn stared dully out the windshield, folding her arms over her chest. Jayne glanced at her, and then returned her eyes to the road.

They continued following Dean's car down the street, eyes peeled for a motel. There was no more conversation about anything at all. Not about the boys, not about the hunt, and not about Dr. Mason. Lynn felt uneasy, and she felt a little regret. Most of all, she was worried.

There was a storm brewing under the surface of the boys' currently quiet animosity, and Lynn knew without a doubt that once it broke, she and Jayne were going to be caught in the middle.

* * *

><p>Sam was beyond irritated. The motel they were staying in was outdated and depressing, with only the bare minimum of facilities available. The walls had either been painted this shade of suicide-gray by a crazy person, or had simply collected enough grime throughout the years to look gray. The state of the motel room, however, was not the problem. Sam was used to depressing, barely functional motel rooms.<p>

Dean was the problem. This entire so-called hunt was the problem. No sooner had they checked into the room, but Dean was flipping through their father's journal, searching for supernatural solutions to the patch of dead grass in the cemetery. Two minutes later, after dropping their stuff off in their own depressing motel room, Jayne and Lynn had appeared in the doorway. To be frank, Sam was irritated with them too. Couldn't they see what this hunt _really_ was? Did they have to coddle Dean so much?

He disappeared into the tiny bathroom and flicked on the single light, casting an unflattering green glow around the room. Sam sighed and splashed some water on his face. It was late already, and the sun had set hours ago. Sam wanted to catch a few hours sleep and then get out of this place. No one else seemed ready to do the same.

Dean had taken up leaning space against the decorative partition between the doorway and the rest of the room. Lynn sat down awkwardly on the edge of the nearest bed, and Jayne stood by the one, lonely window, with her back to the view of the next door building and her arms folded defensively over her chest.

"I'm telling you, something is going on here," Dean announced loudly as he turned pages in their father's journal. "We just haven't figured out what yet."

"Dean, so far you've got a patch of dead grass, and nothing," Sam retorted, patting his face dry and then refolding his hideous pink towel.

"Well, something had to have turned that grave into unholy ground!"

Sam tried really hard not to snap. His brother was purposely missing the point – the point was that there _was no_ unholy ground. "There's no reason for it to be unholy ground," he replied. "Angela Mason was a nice girl who died in a car crash. That's not exactly vengeful spirit material. You heard her father."

Dean pushed himself off the partition and wandered further into the room. "Well, maybe Daddy doesn't know everything there is to know about his little angel, huh?"

Sam came whirling out of the bathroom at that, following Dean into the rest of the room. "You know what?" he exclaimed. "We never should have bothered that poor man!"

Dean stopped short and turned around, looking surprised. Both he and Sam froze in the middle of the room. Still seated on the bed, Lynn looked up at them nervously, chewing her lip as they prepared to argue directly over her head.

Sam deflated. He tried to be gentle. "We shouldn't even be here anymore," he murmured.

"So what, Sam, we just bail?" Dean retorted. "Without even figuring out what's going on?"

Sam steeled himself. "I think I know what's going on here. It's the only reason I went along with you this far."

Dean frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"This is about Mom's grave."

Dean gave a slight, unconvincing chuckle, and looked away, shaking his head. "Got nothing to do with it."

"You wouldn't step within a hundred yards of it."

Across the room, Jayne shifted uncomfortably on the window and cleared her throat. Sam ignored her and quickly pressed on. "Look," he addressed Dean. "Maybe you're imagining a hunt where there isn't one so you won't have to think about Mom. Or Dad."

Dean's jaw got even tighter and he glared at Sam. For a long time, no one in the room spoke. Then Sam sighed tiredly. "You want to take another swing?" he asked his brother. "Go ahead, if it'll make you feel better."

All he got was another glare, followed by Dean shaking his head. "I don't need this crap," he said. Then he turned his back on Sam and grabbed his coat. Sam frowned as his brother snatched the car keys off the television set and marched for the exit.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"To get a drink," Dean returned in a low, dangerous voice. "_Alone_."

Then he stormed out the door, letting it fall shut with a loud _thud!_ behind him. Sam shook his head, staring at the place where his brother had been only seconds before. Then he glanced at the women standing behind him.

Jayne gave him such a murderous look that he frowned in surprise and took a step back. Then she shoved herself off the window and marched determinedly towards the door. Sam instinctively got out of her way. Lynn didn't.

"And where are _you_ going?" she demanded, trying and failing to block Jayne's path. Jayne stopped walking anyway.

"Out," she grunted.

Lynn sighed. "He said he wanted to be alone."

"Do I look like I give a damn about what he wants?"

Lynn shook her head and gave Jayne a tired, almost compassionate look. "Sometimes, you look like that's the only thing you give a damn about."

Jayne stopped, effectively silenced. She blinked at her sister, and then Sam saw her lower jaw work its way in annoyed circles as she absorbed her sister's comment and tried to think up a scathing retort. Lynn raised her eyebrow and took a step back. "Look," she backtracked. "I just meant… as his friend? Maybe you should leave him be."

Jayne stared at her for a moment longer. She shrugged. "No," she returned easily. Then she made her way towards the door again.

"You shouldn't let him get away with so much crap," Sam spoke up, surprising even himself as his voice rang out in the too still motel room. Jayne froze again, and then glared at him over her shoulder. He swallowed, hard, but continued with his piece. "Look, I know it's easy to want to avoid the issue at hand and let him work out his case, but you're not doing him any favors…."

"Oh, Sam," Jayne interrupted, her tone icy. "Shut up."

Sam blinked and shut up.

"You think I don't see what a mess he is?" she asked in a low, hard voice. "I see it. It's all I see half the time. We get it – he's not handling your Dad's death well. Guess what? Neither are you. We see that too."

Lynn automatically looked at the floor. Sam frowned at her, and then looked back at Jayne. "We?" he repeated.

"That's right," Jayne replied smoothly. "We talk about it a lot. It's hard being the only two rational people on this road trip. Seriously, if you want to talk about denial and projecting your personal issues and all that pop-psycho-babble… maybe you ought to take a good look at your own cracked cranium."

Sam blinked at her, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Maybe this isn't a hunt," Jayne went on. "Dean doesn't have a lot to go on, it's true. But maybe it is a hunt, because let's face it – you don't have a lot to go on either."

"I…"

"If you'll excuse me," Jayne cut him off. "I've got to go clean up your mess."

Then she blew right on out the door, and slammed it shut behind her.

Sam gawked at the door, shocked into silence for several long seconds. Lynn didn't move for a moment, almost as though she were afraid to draw any more attention to herself. Then she cleared her throat, mumbling, "I'm just going to go…"

"Wait," he ordered, stopping her cold as she attempted to duck out of the room. "You two really talk about me?"

"She said _both_ of you!" Lynn snapped, way too defensively.

Sam held up his hands. "All right," he agreed. "You two really talk about _us_?"

Lynn looked down at the floor again and squirmed a bit. "Well… yes."

He didn't really know how to handle that new piece of information. For a moment he just stood there, staring at the wall, trying to adjust his views on the whole situation.

"Hey, you know, it's not like I agree with her about everything," Lynn offered after a while. "She, uh… she makes a good point in that, you know… _both_ of you are wrong, it's just… you're not _as_ wrong as she made you feel. If that… makes sense… I mean…"

Sam stared at her. Lynn swallowed and took a deep breath. "Sometimes, Jayne takes Dean's side a little too quickly. It's like instinctual, or something. She's the same way about me, and Steve, and Russ…"

Sam kept staring at her. Lynn squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the bridge of her nose as though she had a headache. "Yeah… I'm definitely going to go."

She turned around again and made another run for the door. Sam didn't stop her this time. He thought about it, but he was still a little too shell-shocked to act. By the time he got his brain and his mouth working again, she'd already gone.

Before, he'd been absolutely positive he was right about this hunt. Now, although he was still fairly sure he was in the right, he wasn't nearly as positive about it. Jayne's outburst and Lynn's small attempt to soften the blow had left him reeling and reevaluating. Had he been wrong about the way he'd handled Dean? Had he been too quick to dismiss this hunt?

Slowly, he took a seat on the edge of his bed and ran his hand through his hair. He wasn't sure what to think anymore.

* * *

><p>Jayne marched out into the tepid night air, flinging her hair over her shoulder as the sound of the motel room door slamming echoed in the dark parking lot. The lights were old and buzzing high above her head, casting circles of green light on various points around her. One such light hovered over Dean's Impala, parked across the lot, facing the street, directly beside her pickup.<p>

She'd reached the back bumper when she heard the engine turn over. A mere second later, Jayne was outside the driver's seat, rapping her knuckles on the window.

Dean jumped, and then frowned at her. She motioned at him to roll the window down, and he complied – but not without rolling his eyes first.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

Jayne bent over and leaned into the window, looking Dean straight in the eye. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"I told you," he ground out from behind clenched teeth. "For a drink. _Alone_."

She opened his car door. "Get out," she ordered.

"No!" he scoffed.

Jayne ignored the refusal, drumming her fingers impatiently on the top of the car door. "Now," she said.

Dean reached for the door handle, and Jayne smacked his hand away. "What the hell?" he exclaimed.

"Either you get out, or I'm getting in," she informed him.

The threat did the trick. Dean turned off the car and stepped outside. He jerked the door from her hand and slammed it shut. Then he held out his arms confrontationally. "There," he smirked. "I'm out. Happy?"

Jayne said nothing. Dean put his arms down. "What the hell do you want?" he demanded.

"Lots of things," she returned. "First of all, I want you to stop being such an asshole."

He glared at her and didn't reply. Jayne held his gaze steadily, tilting her chin towards the black sky. A car drove too quickly down the street behind her, and the warm back draft caught her hair and blew it up around her face.

"Are you here to tell me I'm on a wild goose chase?" Dean finally asked, his tone still every bit as angry as before. "That my hunt's not real and I'm just trying to avoid my mother's grave? Is that what you want? Because I'm not really up for another round of 'Dean's too emotional to do his job right.' Ok? Let's talk tomorrow."

He made a move for his car door again, and Jayne easily blocked him. "I wasn't going to say anything like that," she replied throatily. "You're being kind of weird about this case, but… well, I'm not about to call that grave unholy ground, but I'm still willing to call all those dead plants a red flag. I'm with you, ok? This job… it's real."

Dean stared at her for a long moment. Jayne stared right back. "What is this?" he asked.

She frowned at him. "This is me agreeing with you," she retorted. "And wanting to help you. And even offering to grab that drink with you. Ok? Why are you being so weird?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe this is you humoring me, huh? The way Sam was earlier. Trying not to set me off… dealing with me just right so I don't fly off the handle. Know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I know what you're saying," she replied. "And I'm not going to lie – the way you've been acting lately hasn't exactly inspired my confidence in your emotional stability. But if I didn't think there was something to this, I'd tell you straight. All right? I don't know what it is, but something about that perfect circle… the dead tree… gives me some sort of _Unexplained Mysteries_ vibe. So…"

She trailed off, uncertain where to go after that. Dean stared at her, and she stared back, shrugging helplessly. "What do you want to do?" she asked.

He stared at her a moment longer, and then he shrugged too. "Well… I'd still kind of like to get that drink."

Jayne raised her eyebrow. Dean smirked. She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's go, then."

Dean nodded, his smirk fading. "Ok."

She stalked around the front bumper of the car and yanked open the passenger side door. While she took her seat, Dean slid back in behind the wheel and started the engine up again. Jayne stared awkwardly down at the dashboard as Dean wheeled out of the parking space. She'd achieved her goal; she'd engineered her way into the car and convinced Dean that he didn't really want to be alone. But she wasn't sure what was next.

It wasn't a lie, her claim to believe him about this hunt. She really did think something was going on; she just wasn't sure what. But as angry as she'd been at Sam a few minutes ago, she couldn't deny he'd made a few solid points. Angela Mason was just a nice girl who died in a car crash.

So why was her gravesite so fucked up?

Dean drove just a little farther down the road, pulling into the cramped parking lot of a local dive. Manhattan was a college town, full of college bars – and those bars were full of college girls – but Dean had made a conscious decision to avoid those places, and drink at this hole in the wall. Jayne raised her eyebrow at him, slightly surprised, but Dean paid her no mind. He shut down the engine and got out of the car. She followed him.

The bar was dark and narrow, and the moment they stepped inside, Jayne's ears were assaulted by bluesy rock music and the clatter of balls on a pool table. Dean led the way to the counter and the two of them took seats at the bar. Once the bartender handed them their beers, Dean took a heavy gulp of his drink and said, "I got Angela's address from her father's office. I was thinking we could go check out her place. It's one of those college rentals downtown."

Jayne nodded, drawing lines in the condensation on her glass. "Sure," she agreed. "Sounds good."

"I'm still fuzzy about her friends and stuff," he went on. Jayne took a long drink from her beer. "We've got to talk to some more people."

"We'll probably find some mention of them around her place," Jayne murmured. "Diary, address book, cell phone…"

"Exactly," Dean agreed. "I was thinking we kill a little time here, wait until it's a little darker out, less people on the street, and then we head over to her place."

Jayne nodded her agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

She took another long drink from her beer. Dean did the same. She drummed her fingers on the side of her glass, and then frowned at Dean. "I've got to ask," she said. "Why are you so sure that grave is unholy ground?"

He blinked at her. Then he shrugged. "If you're so sure it's not unholy ground," he returned. "Then how the hell do you explain it?"

She took pause at that, opening her mouth to reply, but not actually saying anything. Dean pointed a warning finger at her. "Don't you dare tell me it's a flying saucer."

Jayne couldn't keep the smirk from twitching onto her face. "Why not? You telling me that out of all the weird shit we've seen, you somehow still take exception to UFOs?"

"Yeah," he retorted. "I do."

Her smirk turned into a full blown smile. He grinned back. Jayne shook her head and tore her eyes away from his, lowering them to the bar. "I don't know what all those dead plants mean," she admitted.

Dean nodded, his smile fading. "Then why not unholy ground?"

She looked back up at him and forced out another smirk. "Why not?" she agreed.

He found his grin again, and then he looked away from her, taking a drink. Jayne traced her finger around the rim of her glass. Her smirk was gone now, and her eyes were fixed unseeingly on the bottom shelf behind the bar. The both of them were drinking slowly; trying to make the single beer last so they'd be sober when they broke into Angela Mason's house. Jayne glanced at Dean out of the corner of her eye, watching him sip at his drink.

It was on the tip of her tongue; she wanted to call him out on his crap and demand he talk about John. She knew his father's death was seriously screwing him up. And she knew it wasn't just because he loved his father and now his father was gone – Dean was so screwed up because he knew just as well as she did exactly why his father was dead.

Dean blamed himself. It was stupid, really – it wasn't his fault. John made a choice. But the connection was there – John died and Dean lived. She could say it out loud, put it on the table – let him know she knew. But where would that get them, really?

She knew saying it out loud, putting it on the table, was going to hurt him. She didn't want to do that. She was afraid to get real about any of this. As infuriating as Dean's determination to avoid the issue was, she wasn't a whole lot better.

He didn't remember his out of body experience, but Jayne remembered the time he spent in a coma perfectly. She remembered sitting vigil; she remembered grasping at straws like they might be cures; she remembered bedside confessions and ghostly fingers stroking her cheek.

She remembered saying she loved him, and for all her denial and second-guessing, she couldn't quite make herself forget.

Dean suddenly tossed back his last mouthful of beer, startling Jayne out of her head. She glanced down at her still half full beer and raised her eyebrow. She'd forgotten to drink.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded, dropping a few bills on the counter and getting to her feet. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

Dean got up too and led the way out of the bar. She followed close behind him as they stepped through the door into the dark parking lot. The air was still warm, and there was no breeze as they made their way to the car. It was humid and uncomfortable. Dean stopped abruptly at the back bumper of the Impala and whirled around to look at her. Jayne jerked to a stop, surprised.

"Hey," he said. "Uh… thanks."

She frowned. "For what?"

He shrugged. "You know… this hunt… going along with me on this… I just, uh… thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," she replied shortly. "I mean… I told you, if I didn't think there was something to this hunt, I wouldn't be here. So…"

"Right, I know," Dean quickly spoke. "I just… it's good, I guess. Having someone else in on this with me."

She stared at him. He stared back, and for a long moment neither of them moved. They stood in the summer night air, their eyes boring into each other's. Finally, Dean shrugged, a small smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, and he turned his back on her.

"Let's go," he said, heading for the driver's door.

Jayne frowned at his back and then took a single step forward. "Hey," she called softly. He stopped short again and turned back around to look at her. "Why didn't you… I mean… at the graveyard…"

Dean immediately looked away from her, annoyance and impatience crossing his face. Jayne swallowed, but persevered. "Sam was right, you know," she said. "You wouldn't go anywhere near her headstone. I just…"

"I really don't want to talk about that," he interrupted.

She swallowed and took a beat. Then she raised her eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. "You ever notice you don't want to talk about anything?" she retorted.

He smirked. "You ever notice you tend to have the same problem?"

Well, he had her there.

They stood there silently in the parking lot, staring at one another once again. Finally, Dean scratched the back of his head and gave her a sad smirk, his eyes scrunching up at their corners. "Look, I've been fighting with people all day today," he said. "Let's not add you to the list."

She blinked at him. Dean turned away again and opened the car door. Jayne watched him slide into the car, feeling defeated. Once he'd shut the door behind him, she took a deep breath and started walking.

Jayne rounded the front bumper of the car, opened the passenger side door, and joined Dean inside the Impala. Once her door was shut, he turned the key in the ignition. They were silent as he steered the car out of the tiny parking lot and back out onto the street.

Buildings and other cars and bright streetlights flew past them as they navigated their way towards Angela Mason's rental home. Jayne glanced at Dean as they drove. He didn't look back. Several minutes later, he'd parked just off the road, behind a growth of shrubs, across the street and a block away from Angela's house. There were no streetlamps on their end of the road, and Dean's all black car faded into the scenery.

There was a light on in the house, and Jayne heaved a sigh, staring out the windshield. "Guess somebody's home," she muttered. "She have a roommate?"

"I don't think so. Maybe her father's picking up some things, or the light's on a timer."

Jayne nodded, keeping her eyes on the house up the road. Dean looked at her, but it was her turn not to look back. Several long, silent seconds ticked by, and then Dean cleared his throat. She glanced his way, and he lowered his eyes to the dashboard. "It's not really her," he said. "You know."

For a moment, Jayne didn't understand what he was saying, or who he was talking about. She frowned at him, sitting up straighter in the seat and folding her arms over her chest. "Who?" she asked, leaning towards him.

Dean shook his head and turned to face the windshield, staring straight at Angela's house. "The headstone," he clarified. "She's not really under it."

Jayne blinked at him again. "There wasn't a body," he went on. "I don't even know the man who put that headstone up. I just… I don't get it, ok? I mean, it's not really her. Sam says it's about her memory or whatever, but… I don't know. I don't see what some rock in some bone-yard that she's not even buried under has to do with her memory."

There was a long silence. Dean didn't look at her, but Jayne did nothing but stare at him. Finally, she shrugged. "Maybe different people remember in different ways," she offered half-heartedly.

Dean shrugged too, and then there was no more talking. Jayne let the silence rest for a few minutes, and then she spoke up again. "My mother doesn't have a headstone," she told him.

He looked at her. She fixed her eyes on the dashboard. "She didn't have any family but us," she murmured. "There was no body either. And Russ… well, he was a lot like us… like John. Headstones… meaningless. Revenge, though, that was…"

She trailed off, swallowing hard, and breathing deep through her nose. Her eyes were stinging, but she ignored the sensation, blinking quickly and turning her face ever so slightly away from Dean. He was still staring.

"You know who does have a headstone?" she said before she could stop herself. "Lynn's mother. Of course, she had a body too, and a sister, so… hell, the sister probably put it up. I don't know."

She made herself stop talking and tightened her arms around her chest, as if that would hold her together. She shook her head and blinked a few times, and then she looked straight at Dean. He held her gaze steadily. "So is that why you've been so screwed up?" she asked. "On this hunt and everything? The headstone?"

His jaw got tight and he looked away. "I was already screwed up," he quipped.

"No arguments there," she returned. "So it's not about your mom? It's all John."

Dean glowered at her out of the corner of his eye. "Remember when I said I didn't want to talk about this?"

Jayne kept staring at him, narrowing her eyes into a glare of her own. "Yeah, I remember," she returned.

There was a long silence. Jayne knew, deep down, that pushing Dean would probably lead to another argument, but they'd been so close to actually talking about things that it was hard to let go. Normally, it had to be said, Jayne wasn't one for talking about things. But this felt different – it felt like seeing into Dean's head and understanding how he felt was the key to pulling him back from the edge.

Of course, just because she felt that way didn't make it so. Jayne was floundering, completely lost, and had no idea how to help Dean. This was not her territory – she did not recognize this ground. Still, she had to feel her way around and figure this territory out, because that's what you do when you love somebody.

And she loved him – as a friend, and yet sometimes more. Jayne screwed her eyes shut and took a deep steadying breath. She wanted to take the thought back as soon as she'd had it. She wanted to close herself off and deny what she felt and run, run, run away.

She stayed right where she was.

"It's just…"

Dean's voice startled her, and she swung her head to look at him. He swallowed hard, cutting himself off. "It's just what?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Never mind."

She let it lie. It was on the tip of her tongue to demand he continue, but she couldn't make herself do it. She didn't want to stir up trouble between them; she didn't want to argue. Hell, when it came right down to it, maybe she was as afraid of this conversation as Dean was.

"The light's still on," she observed dully.

"Yeah," Dean murmured. "I say we give it a few more minutes."

She nodded and fell silent. Dean sat still, his eyes never wavering from the house. Jayne pulled her hair off her neck and fidgeted a little in her seat. She was starting to get bored, and she'd already been uncomfortable, and it was kind of too warm to be wearing her jacket. She tugged on the collar of her shirt and her coat, and tilted her head back against the seat.

Dean cleared his throat, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at her, his eyes traveling down the column of her neck and then drifting even farther south. She raised her eyebrow at him, caught off guard. It wasn't that she'd never caught him checking her out before; it wasn't that she didn't feel his eyes on her from time to time – she had and she did, but it was kind of jarring to see him be so obvious about it.

He better know what he was starting, looking at her like that. She wasn't in any mood to ignore that look, to tell him no, to deny what she wanted in order to preserve what she had. He was going to get himself in trouble, looking at her like that.

His eyes travelled north again, and she caught them with her own. They stared at one another for a long time, and then Dean shut his eyes and shook his head. "Uh…" he said, looking away. "Um, I…

"Dean," she interrupted his stuttering. He looked at her again, raising his eyebrow. "Don't be such a girl."

He blinked at her, stunned silent for a few seconds. "Well," he finally said, a small, astonished chuckle escaping his lips. "That wasn't very enlightened."

Jayne sat up straight in her seat and leaned across the console. Dean opened his mouth, but she covered it with her own, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket. At first, he froze in surprise, but gave in a mere second later. His hand buried itself in her hair and his tongue mashed itself against hers. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her halfway across the console, molding her against his chest. Jayne moved one hand from his coat to the back of his neck, and the other inside his jacket, running her fingers over his tee shirt and dragging them down to the hem. Dean pulled his lips off hers and moved his mouth to her neck, his warm wet lips pressing against the soft, sensitive spots on her throat. She grabbed his jacket again and yanked it down his back. Dean shrugged out of the garment one arm at a time, still kissing her neck, and then tossed the coat into the backseat. He pulled off her jacket next. Jayne let her coat fall onto the floor, under the passenger seat. His hands moved down over her hips, and then he wrapped his hands around her thighs and lifted her over the console, pulling her into his lap in the driver's seat.

She landed on him hard, and his fingers pulled apart the first few buttons on her flannel shirt. Jayne inhaled sharply as his lips traveled from her throat to her chest, sucking and nipping at the skin just below her tank top. His rough, warm hand moved under her shirt, up her back, and found the clasp on her bra. It took him an unsettling short amount of time to unhook the clasp and slide his hand underneath the garment, cupping her breast. She grabbed at his button down and pulled on it until Dean let go of her long enough to take that off too, and then she snatched his tee shirt by the hem and yanked it over his head, tossing it across the front of the car.

Jayne's mouth worked its way down Dean's neck and over his bare chest. She could hear him panting in her ear – could feel the hardness growing underneath her. Dean pulled open the rest of the buttons on her shirt as she worked over a sensitive spot right under his collarbone, and then he pulled the flannel down her arms. She shrugged out of the shirt and carelessly let it hit the floor. Dean tore her tank top over her head and threw it over his shoulder. Her bra landed on the passenger seat.

His mouth was in the center of her chest, and then he moved to the left and closed it around one breast. She shivered at the warm, wet sensation of his moving tongue, and dug her nails into his shoulder. Dean's fingers found her belt buckle, and he deftly undid the clasp, before popping the button on her jeans loose and yanking open the zipper.

They were really going to do this – that's when it hit her. This was going to happen. Well, it had happened before – but this was sober, this was real…

She didn't stop him. She gripped the sides of his face and pulled him into her, pressing her lips hard against his and opening his mouth with her tongue. He wrapped one arm tightly around her waist and slid his other hand inside her pants.

A soft cry escaped her lips as she felt his fingers graze her sensitive spot, and then slip inside her. She rose up on her knees, her legs planted on either side of him, one hand pressed against the ceiling. His warm wet mouth worked its way down her neck and over her clavicle, as his fingers continued stroking her inside her pants. Breathless, she gripped his shoulder, and let loose another soft cry. She reached down and pulled open his belt, undoing the fly on his jeans. Dean removed his hand and rolled to the right, forcing her down across the front seats, narrowly missing the gearshift. The hard plastic console dug into her bare back and her leg became trapped under the steering wheel. She grunted, and tried to free her leg, and then she laughed.

Dean jerked back, abandoning his assault on her neck and frowned at her. She smirked, trying to stop laughing. "It's just, uh…" she whispered, another chuckle escaping her throat. "There's not a lot of room in here."

He smirked back. "Yeah, well," he murmured in a low, hoarse voice. "We don't need a lot of room."

She raised her eyebrow at him, and he slid his hand back under her waistband, his fingers ghosting over her hip and down her thigh. His lips brushed against hers, and then he lowered his mouth back on her neck. Jayne gripped the top of his jeans and tugged, pulling them down around his knees. Dean pushed himself off her and tried to squirm his way out of his pants, knocking his head against the roof of the car. Jayne snorted and laughed a little. A goofy grin spread across Dean's face, and then he launched himself at her, his lips attacking her neck again.

He kicked his jeans off at some point, letting them land under the driver's seat. Then he yanked her jeans down around her ankles, and she managed to worm out of them, raising herself up on her elbows to watch him throw the pants into the back of the car. He lowered himself on top of her again, his warm chest molding against hers, and his calloused hand gripping her thigh. His mouth came down on her breast; his tongue traced circles on her skin. Her hips bucked up against his and she gripped the back of his neck with one hand while the other hand slipped inside his boxers.

She could feel her stomach lurching, and couldn't stop the quiet moans escaping her throat. Dean was making similar noises against her skin. He tugged off her panties, and she yanked off his boxers. Then he sat up straight in the driver's seat, yanking her up with him so she landed in his lap again. She straddled him and rose up on her knees, and then lowered herself slowly onto him. He slid inside her and she gasped, gripping his shoulders.

He thrust and she moaned softly. She tightened around him, squeezing back as he continued thrusting harder and harder, bouncing her straight up and down in the seat. Dean was breathing heavily, groaning every now and again, and she was still moaning quietly – still holding his shoulders. His hands traveled up and down her back and her thighs. There was a dull ache between her legs that somehow managed to feel _so good. _He held her hips in place, still thrusting into her, and then his thumb came down on where she was most sensitive, rubbing small circles against the spot. She cried out and gripped his shoulders tighter. His thumb pressed harder against her, and after one particular hard thrust, she cried out again and tightened involuntarily around him. He grunted against her chest, and then rubbed another soft circle in just the right spot, his thrusts now hard and quick and out of control.

She came suddenly, her head swimming, and her loud, sharp cry that accompanied her bracing release echoed around the car. Jayne slumped limply against Dean's chest, and he continued thrusting only a few more times before he came too, groaning against her skin. Breathlessly, she rose up on her knees and he slid out of her. Then she collapsed on his lap, her legs weak, and Dean wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her into his chest.

Neither of them moved for a long time. Jayne could feel his heart beating too fast under her cheek as he tried to catch his breath. Slowly the thumping evened itself out, returning to a normal pace. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she could feel herself drifting off to sleep. Dean tilted the seat as far back as it would go and pulled his coat up around them both. She felt his lips brush against her forehead and lifted her head slightly, looking him in the eye.

He gave her a familiar smirk that was just so _Dean,_ it almost hurt. His fingers weaved themselves through her hair and she gave him a small smile of her own before laying her head back against his chest. Dean tightened his hold on her and she let herself drift, so comfortable falling asleep like this, that had she been more lucid, it might have scared her.

It didn't, though. She felt too content for her own good, really, and let herself fall asleep without worrying about the morning. In that moment, it didn't matter that she'd done exactly what she had resolved not to do - all that mattered was that it felt right, and she didn't regret it.

Somehow, it never occurred to her that she might feel different in the morning.

* * *

><p>Lynn kicked back on her bed, sitting on top of the ugly, patterned pink comforter and flipping listlessly through the channels on the TV. She was alone, and she was bored, and she was frustrated. It had been hours since her sister had stormed out of Sam and Dean's motel room, intent on hunting down Dean and – well, Lynn had no idea what her sister's intentions were. All she knew was that Jayne had left, and Jayne hadn't come back.<p>

She hadn't bothered to turn on the lights, and the room looked even more depressing in the dark, lit only by the dim blue glow from the television set. The grubby gray walls were even grayer in this light, and the streetlamp outside the single window did nothing to add to the ambiance. The television flicked shadows across the walls, and Lynn felt her eyelids getting heavier in the dark. She was sleepy – tired from the long drive and the long day and the dim, depressing room.

She might have fallen asleep on top of the bedclothes with her jeans still on if it hadn't been for the knock on the motel room door.

Lynn's first instinct was to roll her eyes, but she tossed the remote down on the bed and clambered to her feet anyway. A peek through the peephole confirmed her annoyed suspicion – her late night caller was none other than Sam Winchester.

He smiled sheepishly at her when she swung open the door. Lynn slumped against the frame and folded her arms over her chest. "What do you want?" she asked.

His grin immediately faded. "Uh… just wondering if you'd heard from Jayne."

"Nope."

"Dean hasn't called."

The information neither surprised nor worried her. Before, when Jayne had snapped at Sam and said all those nasty things that Lynn neither fully supported nor entirely disagreed with, she'd felt inclined to be apologetic. She'd stumbled over her words and made a hasty retreat. Now, she was annoyed and bored and… well, she was over it.

After a long moment of her silent staring, Sam cleared his throat and spoke up again. "Um… I was wondering if I could come in?"

Lynn shrugged and stepped back from the door. "Yeah, suit yourself."

He stepped into the room and let the door fall shut behind him. Lynn turned her back on him and headed deeper into the room. "It's kind of dark in here," Sam observed.

"I was going to bed," Lynn offered by way of an excuse. She made no move to turn the lights on, however, and Sam didn't bother to do it either.

He stood awkwardly by the door, and Lynn rolled her eyes before turning to face him, still standing on the other side of the room. "So… you need something?" she asked.

Sam shrugged. "Um… I was just thinking. About what you said?"

"I didn't say much," Lynn pointed out. "Jayne was the one who yelled at you, so…"

"Right," Sam murmured. "But, uh… I got the impression you at least partway agreed with her."

Lynn said nothing. Sam waited a beat, and then carried on. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "If you guys think I've been… I don't know. Preachy or something."

There was another long silence. Lynn stared at him, expressionless, and Sam stared back expectantly. Finally, Lynn rolled her eyes again and sighed. "It's not that exactly," she tried to explain, hedging her words in her attempt to articulate exactly what the problem with the Winchesters _really_ was. "It's just… you're so convinced you know what's going on with Dean better than he does that you're kind of ignoring the larger picture. You know, just because the guy's off the rails doesn't mean he can't also have a legitimate hunt on his hands. You just… the both of you, really…"

She was talking too fast now. Lynn took a deep breath, interrupting herself, and slowly exhaled. "I guess… maybe neither one of you is really fit to be hunting right now."

Sam bristled immediately. Lynn couldn't really blame him. She'd questioned his ability to do his job, and no one liked to be on the receiving end of that. But she couldn't keep quiet any longer about all this. Dean might be off the rails, but Sam wasn't much better. What she really wanted to do, Lynn decided, was take control over everything – direct their hunts and order Sam and Dean around until they were ready to handle everything themselves.

Except she would never think they were ready to handle things themselves. That was the problem. If she took control now, she'd never let go.

"Look, don't take this wrong way," she said too quickly. "I just… can you not be so thick-skulled about all this?"

"You can't be serious," Sam returned, and his voice had taken on that patented, too-gentle, almost condescending tone of his. Lynn gritted her teeth. "I went along with Dean this far, Lynn. I gave his case a shot. We've looked into the hunt enough, ok? What about Angela Mason makes you think her grave was turned into unholy ground?"

"Nothing," she admitted. "But I think only talking to _one_ of the people in her life before making a decision isn't really 'looking into the hunt' at all. Face it, Sam – you made a snap judgment in the graveyard, and haven't bothered to challenge it once. As far as you're concerned, Dean's projecting, and that means you can't be bothered to treat this like a real hunt."

Sam blinked at her. "You think there's nothing wrong with the way Dean's been acting."

"I think there's plenty wrong with the way Dean's been acting," Lynn replied easily. "That doesn't give you a free pass."

"You're taking his side."

Lynn groaned loudly, shaking her head and gripping the bridge of her nose. "Damn it, Sam, you're not listening to me! This isn't about one of you being right and the other one being wrong – it's about _both_ of you being _both_ right _and_ wrong!"

It wasn't the most articulate of explanations, and she couldn't entirely fault Sam if he didn't quite get it. He stared at her for a moment, frowning, and then he tilted his head to the side and breathed in deeply, opening his mouth like he wanted to speak. He didn't speak though – he just kept looking at her through his squinted eyes with his mouth hanging open. Lynn stared back at him for a few moments, and then got exasperated.

"_What_?" she demanded.

"Maybe you're right," he said, and Lynn was shocked into an open-mouthed silence of her own.

"Maybe you're right," he said again, pacing the room. "I mean… on any other case, I would have talked to some of her friends too. I would have run an EMF over the grave. I… maybe you're right."

She closed her mouth and straightened her spine, tilting her chin towards the ceiling. "I know I'm right," she informed him.

He smirked slightly, and then got serious again. "Dean's still not ok," he said. "The way he avoided my Mom's grave was not normal, Lynn."

"No one said it was."

"He's been acting completely out of control."

"Seconded."

There was a long silence. "Why are you and Jayne even still around?" Sam asked incredulously, a brief, scoffing laugh escaping his lips.

It was a damn good question, honestly. If Jayne had had her way the week before, they'd be gone. If Lynn had gotten her way earlier that day, they'd be in Kentucky, waiting for a phone call. Still, Lynn wasn't perfect, and Jayne _definitely _wasn't perfect, and so they could cut the boys more than a little slack.

She shrugged at him. "I guess we just like you," she smirked. "Go figure."

He smiled, looking at the floor. "Thanks," he murmured.

There was another long silence, with neither one of them looking at the other. Finally, Sam made a move towards the door. "I'm going to catch a few hours sleep," he told her. "Start fresh in the morning?"

Lynn offered up a meager smile for him. "Sure. Fresh in the morning."

He smiled again and pulled open the door. "Night."

"Night," she echoed.

Sam ducked outside and the door shut behind him. Lynn stared at the exit for a moment, her smile instantly falling from her face. She wished she could trust that they'd all get a fresh start in the morning – that things could be fixed and forgotten, and they could all get on the same, semi-functioning page again.

She wasn't going to hold her breath.

* * *

><p>Bright sunlight streaming in through the windshield of the Impala awoke Dean the next morning, the light catching him right across the eyes. He squinted against the painfully bright rays and lifted his head ever so slightly, glancing around him with a frown. His seat was tilted all the way back, so it was lying against the backseat. Jayne was squeezed into the seat beside him, her legs draped over his lap and her head nestled in his chest. He could tell from her deep, even breathing that she was fast asleep.<p>

Dean stared down at the top of her head and ran his fingers through her hair. His jacket had been pulled up around her shoulders, covering most of them as they lay sleeping in the car. A small smile twitched across his face and he tightened his arms around her, resting his nose against her hair. His eyes closed of their own accord and he contemplated going back to sleep. It would be easy enough to do, until he remembered they were parked on a residential street, and it was already daylight. Crack of dawn, maybe, but the sun was up and soon people were going to start passing by their hiding spot.

Jayne stirred on his chest. Dean pulled back slightly and lowered his eyes to look at her again. Slowly, she lifted her head and met his eyes.

"Hey," she murmured sleepily.

He winked at her. "Morning, Goldilocks."

She rolled her eyes, a small smile playing on her face. "Shut up."

Dean smirked and ran his hand through her hair. Jayne rested her head against his chest again and he pulled her closer against him.

"We should get up," she mumbled into his skin. "Check out the house."

"Mm-hmm," he agreed, not moving a muscle.

They lay there silently for a few moments longer, and then Jayne stirred again. "All right," she announced, disentangling herself from his arms and sitting up with his coat clutched against her chest. She frowned around the car. "Where the hell are my pants?"

He chuckled. She shot him a smirk over her shoulder, and he was genuinely surprised to see her look so playful. He watched her bend over the console to collect her clothes from the floor. She tossed his jeans at his face, and he flinched, barely managing to catch them.

It took only minutes for the two of them to get dressed and exit the car. They very carefully did not discuss what had happened the night before. Dean thought it should be awkward – but it wasn't. Everything was easy, everything was comfortable – but there was no talking about it.

The two of them headed up the road, passing parked cars and large shrubs, alone in the gray, early morning light. They walked straight to Angela Mason's house and up the front steps. Dean picked the lock on the front door while Jayne stood on the porch and watched the street.

He opened the door and stepped cautiously inside. Convinced it was clear, he waved Jayne in behind him. She followed him over the threshold and shut the door with a gentle click.

The two of them made their way into the main living area, Dean taking the lead. The room was painted a boring, rental white, and the windows were hung with frilly, girly white curtains. The furniture was cheap and typical of college students, and under the large window was an overstuffed maroon couch.

On a shelf to the left was a picture of Angela Mason. Dean crossed the room and took the dark wooden frame in his hand, lifting the photo from the shelf and examining it. Jayne headed further into the room, towards the window, and Dean lifted his eyes from the picture to watch her walk away from him. Her jeans were low on her hips and his eyes followed her movements as she walked. Dean swallowed hard, last night flashing briefly through his mind, and then lowered his eyes to the picture again.

The light in the room reflected just right off the glass of the picture frame, and Dean could see the hallway behind him reflected in the glass. Suddenly, a young brunette girl appeared in the hallway, ducking out of a bedroom door. Dean whirled around, and the girl stumbled back into the wall.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

She'd clearly just woken up, clad in pink boxers and a camisole. Her frightened eyes darted from Dean to Jayne and back again. He stepped forward, trying to be reassuring. The girl darted back to her bedroom.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" he exclaimed, rushing after her. Jayne raced along behind him, but the girl slammed her bedroom door in their faces.

"Hold on!" he called.

"I'm calling 9-1-1!" she bellowed from behind the door.

"Oh, shit," Jayne sighed beside him.

"We're Angela's cousins!" Dean bellowed. "Alan! And, uh… Marcia… Stanwick."

Jayne stared incredulously at him. He shrugged.

"What?" the girl asked.

"Yeah, uh… her dad sent us to pick up some of her stuff," Dean ad-libbed.

Jayne raised her eyebrow at him. She didn't look impressed. He shrugged again. Slowly, the bedroom door creaked open, and the girl poked her head out into the hallway, frowning at the two intruders. Dean tried a reassuring smile, and Jayne nodded at the girl, opting not to say anything.

A wise move, as he was positive Jayne speaking up at this moment was probably the last thing they needed.

"Her dad didn't say you were coming," the girl informed them, still frowning.

Dean didn't have an immediate response to that. He shrugged again, and then dug his room key out of his coat. "Well, how else would I have the key to your place?" he asked, dangling the key from his fingers.

It was a shaky argument, and the key in his hand was by no means the actual key to the young co-ed's place. But amazingly enough, the girl bought it. She apologized, and then Dean apologized, and then she ducked into her bedroom to change.

Dean glanced at Jayne again, who merely raised her eyebrow at him. "Marcia?" she asked.

He smirked.

Ten minutes later, the roommate came out in jeans and a sweatshirt, and led the two hunters into the living room. "We're really sorry about this," Dean told her, affecting a bit of laughter in his voice. "Uh… you know, I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name."

"Lindsay," the girl replied automatically.

"Right, Lindsay. Of course – knew it started with an L..."

Jayne rolled her eyes, but Lindsay didn't react at all. "Her stuff is kind of scattered around the house," Lindsay said in a dull voice. "I've tried packing up her bedroom a little, but…"

Her voice caught, and she put her hands over her face. Dean cringed. Jayne made a face, folding her arms over her chest and finally spoke up. "Hey, if you'd rather we come over at a different time…" she offered.

"No, it's ok," Lindsay assured her breathlessly. "I just… god, this is all so hard."

She flopped down on the couch and grabbed a box of tissues. Dean glanced at Jayne, who gave him a look that suggested she was physically in pain. He rolled his eyes at her and sat down on the edge of a chair across the coffee table from the couch. Jayne perched herself awkwardly on the arm of the sofa, still with her arms folded over her chest. Lindsay blew her nose.

"So, I'm sure you got a view of Angela that none of the family got to see," Dean spoke up. "Tell me, what was she like? You know, what was she _really _like?"

"She was great," Lindsay replied, smiling. "Just… great. I mean, she was _so_…"

The girl trailed off, clenching her fist, trying to find the right word. Dean grimaced. "Great?" he supplied.

"Yeah," Lindsay squeaked out, nodding and screwing up her face as another round of tears threatened to burst open the dam – again. Dean offered her another tissue.

"You two must have been really close," Dean pressed.

Lindsay nodded. "We were."

Jayne caught his eye over the girl's head, looking skeptical. Dean glanced at Jayne, and then refocused his attention on the roommate.

"But it's not just her," Lindsay admitted. "It's Matt."

"Who?" Dean asked.

"Angela's boyfriend."

"Yeah, _Alan_," Jayne practically grunted, her voice dripping with irony. He'd have glared at her if Lindsay wasn't looking right at him.

"Right," he quickly agreed. "Matt. What about him?"

"He killed himself last night," Lindsay explained. "He cut his own throat… _who does that_?"

Jayne perked up at that news, and Dean shared her knowing look. "That's terrible."

"I mean, he'd been taking Angela's death pretty hard," Lindsay went on. "And I guess… I mean, he'd been messed up about it for days."

"Messed up how?" Dean demanded.

"He kept saying that he saw her everywhere…"

"Well, I'm sure that's normal. I mean, with everything he was going through…"

"He said he _saw_ her," Lindsay interrupted, her eyes wide. "As in, an acid trip or something."

Jayne raised her eyebrow at him. Dean nodded discreetly. "Were Angela and Matt a happy couple?" he asked next. "I mean was there any reason Angela would have been angry with him?"

"What?" Lindsay exclaimed. "No, of course not! Why do you ask?"

"Just asking," Dean quickly backtracked.

There was a moment of silence. Dean looked up at Lindsay again, and tried for a smile. "Where did Matt live?" he asked.

They didn't sit with Lindsay long after that. The girl gave them the information and then excused herself, saying she needed to shower. Dean ducked immediately into Angela's bedroom, Jayne hot on his heels, and rounded on her the moment she shut the door.

"I told you," he said triumphantly. "Slit his own throat? Nobody ganks themselves that way."

"I agree," Jayne murmured. "So… what do you think? Angry spirit?"

"Probably," Dean nodded, frowning around the room. "I say we look around here a little longer and then swing by Matt's."

"Sounds like a plan."

He ambled further into the room, thumbing his way through her bookshelf. The floorboards creaked under Jayne's weight as she made her way towards the girl's bed. He turned around in time to see her lift up the mattress and stick her hand underneath it.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, frowning.

"Diary," she replied. "Ha!"

She slipped her hand out from under the mattress, a small pink notebook in her hand. Dean raised his eyebrow at her. "You found that awful fast."

Jayne shrugged, opening the diary and leafing through the pages. "Teenage girls keep diaries," she murmured. "Older sisters like to read them."

She smirked at him. Dean chuckled low in his throat, taking a step forward. "Of course, Lynn would cut a slit in bottom of the mattress and tuck the diary inside," Jayne went on. "I guess Angela wasn't quite so paranoid."

Dean smirked again and took a seat on the edge of the bed. His legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and he leaned back on his hands. Jayne stood at the side of the bed, still flipping through the diary. His eyes traveled the length of her body, up her legs and over her hips, resting on her neck, and then back down to her boots.

"So if I look under your mattress, am I going to find one of those?" he asked, looking up at her face.

She snorted. "Nope."

"No diary for you, huh?"

"Do _you_ have a diary?" she retorted, looking up from the diary with a smirk.

He smirked back, and she flipped the diary shut. "I can read this in the car," she told him. "Let's go and check out the boyfriend's place before Lindsay gets out of the shower."

She marched for the door, the diary tucked under her arm. Dean's eyes followed her, centered on her slightly swaying hips, and then he got to his feet and jogged after her.

Neither of them might be talking about the night before, but it wasn't far from his mind. He wasn't sure what had started last night – the way she'd arched her back in the seat beside him, the way his eyes had traveled too low on her chest. It was her, mostly – the way she'd leaned across the car and kissed him like it was no big thing.

And maybe it wasn't such a big thing. Before the accident – before his Dad… something had been happening between them, and he wasn't sure what had steered them off course. It had something to do with the crap-storm that had hit immediately after Salvation, Iowa. Mostly, Dean was certain, it was about him and his issues, and not really about her at all.

They stepped out into the sun and sauntered off the front porch of the rental house. The trees and shrubs around the neighborhood were overwhelmingly green, and the air was not too cool, nor too warm. Dean followed her back to his car, still parked in the bushes down the street.

It might be too easy, sliding back on course. What he'd done with Jayne the night before might be too easy to do again, and to be perfectly honest, Dean didn't think that was a bad thing at all.

* * *

><p>In Sam's defense, there had been nothing else on TV. Dean had been gone all night and most of the morning, and he was bored. There wasn't much to do in the tiny, dark motel room and daytime television was <em>terrible<em>. Besides, the movie had been all too easy to order – just punch in a few buttons on the remote control, and he was good to go.

So of course Dean walked into the room about three seconds later. Sam quickly shut off the television, but it was too late. "Hey," he offered.

Dean just stood by the door and stared at the TV.

"What?" Sam asked, trying to be casual.

"Awkward," Dean replied.

Embarrassed, Sam twitched in his seat on the edge of the bed. Dean walked further into the room and rested his coat on the TV. "Where the hell were you?" Sam demanded, anxious to change the subject.

"Working my imaginary case," Dean retorted.

Sam's stomach jumped slightly, the guilt twisting in his gut. "Yeah? And?"

"Well, you were right. I didn't find much."

It had kept him awake part of the night, thinking over what Lynn had said about him not giving Dean's case a fair shot. Now, however, in light of Dean's comment, Sam felt vindicated again.

"Oh, except Angela's boyfriend died last night. Slit his own throat, but you know, that's normal."

Sam stared up at his brother incredulously, trying to wrap his head around that one. Dean wasn't finished. "Let's see, what else? Oh, yeah, and he was seeing Angela everywhere before he died… but you know, I'm sure that's just me, transferring my own feelings."

"All right, fine," Sam retorted. "Ok? I get it. I'm sorry, maybe there is something going on here…"

"Maybe?" Dean cut him off angrily, whirling around. "Sam, I know how to do my job, despite what you might think!"

There was long, painful silence. Sam looked down at the floor, while Dean glared at him. "We should check out the guy's apartment," he suggested.

Dean took a seat on an ugly, dark green chair, and bent over to untie his boots. "I just came from there," he replied. "A pile of dead plants, just like the cemetery. Hell, a dead goldfish too."

Sam frowned. "So… unholy ground?"

"Maybe. I'm still not getting that powerful, angry spirit vibe from Angela."

They were quiet again. "I have been reading this, though," Dean spoke up, getting out of the chair and heading for the dresser where the television was. Sam watched as he pulled a pink notebook from under his coat. "You stole the girl's diary?" he exclaimed.

"Well, technically, Jayne did," Dean defended himself – and then proceeded to open the book and flip through the pages. Sam rolled his eyes. "And if anything, the girl's a little too nice."

"So what do you want to do?"

"Keep digging – talk to a few more of her friends."

"You get any names?"

"Are you kidding me? I've got her bestest friend in the whole wide world."

Dean smirked and tossed the diary at him. Sam barely managed to catch it before it hit him in the face. He frowned, holding the diary in his lap as Dean wandered around the room, gathering a fresh change of clothes.

"So you stole a diary, and poked around the boyfriend's place," Sam murmured. "And that took you all night?"

Dean swung his head rather guiltily in his direction. "Uh… yeah. Why?"

Sam frowned again. "No reason. Just…"

"Got to jump in the shower," Dean interrupted, grabbing his clothes and ducking into the bathroom. Moments later, the door slammed shut and the shower started running.

Sam frowned at the bathroom door. "Ok… act weirder…" he muttered under his breath. Then he looked down at the diary in his lap and flipped it open.

Dean's imaginary case had turned out to be a real one after all. Sam frowned at the notebook, feeling guilty again.

Lynn had been right.

* * *

><p>"So let me get this straight," Lynn said from the passenger seat of the truck. Jayne rolled her eyes, tightening her grip on the wheel. "You and Dean went to see Angela's apartment, talked to her roommate, stole her diary, and checked out the boyfriend's place… and it took you all night and most of this morning?"<p>

"That's right," Jayne replied smoothly.

"Yeah, not buying that."

Jayne shrugged, steering the truck down the lonely stretch of road that led to the local cemetery. "Whatever, Lynn."

They both fell quiet after that. Jayne refused to talk about last night with her sister – or anyone, as a matter of fact. Hell, she hadn't even spoken to Dean about it yet, and she wasn't really planning on it. It wasn't that she felt weird about it, or that she was embarrassed, or ashamed. She didn't want to forget it, and she wouldn't mind doing it again.

But talking about it was something else entirely. It wasn't necessary, between her and Dean. They were on the same page, somehow, without the discussion. At least, she thought they were. At any rate, it was none of Lynn's business, and Jayne didn't want anyone knowing about it yet – particularly not her nosy sister. She loved Lynn and all, but she didn't need her involved in whatever was happening between her and Dean.

Lynn made a slight whimpering noise, breaking the silence. "I can't believe we have to do this," she complained. "This is going to be so gross."

"Hey, you heard the geek," Jayne retorted.

"Nice," Lynn scolded her.

"I call them like I see it," Jayne said, shrugging again. "Neil was a geek. Anyway, you heard the guy. Angela Mason crashed her car right after seeing her boyfriend shacking up with another girl. Now the guy's dead? If that doesn't scream vengeful spirit…"

"Yeah, I get it," Lynn interrupted irritably. "I know we _have_ to do it; that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Jayne rolled her eyes a second time, refocusing her attention on the road. The road was dark, without a single streetlamp to guide the way, and heavily wooded on both sides. The only other car on the road was Dean's Impala, and Jayne followed closely behind him, her headlights bouncing off his back bumper. They'd all had a long day. After checking out Matt's place and rounding up Sam and Lynn, the four hunters had gone to visit Neil, a close friend that had been mentioned repeatedly in Angela's diary. Neil had proven to be a young guy, short and scrawny, with dark hair and a bad haircut, and it had been Neil who had told them the story about Matt's unfaithfulness. Finally, the unholy ground around Angela's grave had begun to make sense.

Which meant they had to salt and burn Angela's bones if they wanted to end her killing spree. Of course Lynn was right to be disgusted – Sam hadn't been thrilled either. In fact, when Dean had suggested the solution, Sam had rejoined with "Are you high?"

Angela Mason had only died last week. There would be no bones – only a ripe, rotting corpse. This was going to get messy.

They finally reached the cemetery. Jayne followed the Impala into the drive, parking at the padlocked gate, and then shut down her engine. Lynn hopped down from the cab and headed for the bed. Jayne got out of the truck just as Sam and Dean climbed out of their car, and she exchanged a nod with Dean. Sam ignored her, heading around the back bumper of the Impala in order to pop the trunk.

The four hunters grabbed shovels, salt and lighter fluid, abandoned their cars, and hopped the fence. A short hike across the dark, shadowy graveyard ended in front of Angela's temporary grave marker.

Lynn sighed on Jayne's right. "This sucks," she announced.

"Quit bitching and dig," Jayne retorted, sticking her shovel in the dirt.

"This _does_ suck," Sam spoke up, turning over a shovelful of dead grass and soil. "We should have brought those surgical masks or something."

"You mean the ones people wear in airports because of bird flu?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

Dean snorted and side-eyed his brother. "Wuss."

"Shut up!"

They continued on in this vein for nearly two hours, joking around and taking turns digging down to Angela's coffin. The crescent moon moved slightly in the night sky, and Jayne could hear crickets chirping in the nearby trees and bushes. She shrugged out of her jacket, and soon the other three did the same, all of them panting and sweating in the warm night air. Dirt was flying up into the air, and as time passed, a deep rectangular hole began to take shape.

Finally, just as the tops of their heads were starting to sink lower than the earth, Dean's shovel hit something solid. Jayne heaved a sigh of relief, pitching her shovel to the side and slumping against the moist, muddy wall of Angela's grave. There was sweat on her forehead and the back of her neck, and she was breathing in dry, heavy gasps.

Dean bent over and knocked the lock on the coffin loose with the tip of his shovel. Then he dropped the shovel in the dirt and took a step back. "Ladies first," he grunted through gasps for breath, gesturing at the coffin.

"Nu-uh," Lynn panted, reached above her head and pressing her palms into the grass. She vaulted out of the grave and collapsed onto the ground above the other three's heads. "I'm not getting anywhere near that nastiness."

Jayne rolled her eyes, but didn't make a move towards the coffin. Dean knocked his arm into Sam and gestured at the coffin. Sam glared, but he moved closer anyway and shoved his flashlight into Dean's chest.

"Hold that," Sam ordered breathlessly. Dean complied, shining both his flashlight and Sam's on the coffin at their feet. Jayne made a face, still leaning into the dirt as Sam bent over and flung the coffin open.

It was empty.

There was no body. Jayne gawked down at the white, satiny coffin liner and pillow, shocked into silence. She studied it for a moment, her eyes resting on the coffin lid where the white satin had been torn to rags.

Dean and Sam exchanged a frown. Lynn poked her head over the edge of the grave and squinted down at the coffin. She scrunched her face up incredulously and looked at Jayne. Jayne shrugged at her.

"What the hell?" Lynn asked.

"They buried the body four days ago," Dean spoke up.

"I don't get it," Sam added.

Jayne ignored them all and took a step towards the empty coffin. "The liner's ripped up," she told them, gesturing at the lid.

The other three took notice; Sam and Dean knelt in the dirt to take a closer look. "What is that?" Dean asked, frowning at the ripped cloth.

"I'm not sure," Sam returned.

Jayne knelt in the dirt beside Dean, frowning at the coffin lid. She saw it too now, under the ripped liner. Several large, odd white symbols had been carved into the wood of the coffin.

"What is it?" Lynn demanded from above ground. "What's going on? What are you looking at?"

Jayne glared up at her stepsister. "Why don't you hop down here and take a look?"

Lynn grimaced. "But I'm already out of the hole!"

"They're symbols," Sam spoke up. "Or some kind of script… I think it's written in another language."

"I've seen these kinds of symbols before," Dean announced in a low, dark tone. Jayne frowned at him, but he was busy staring at the lid, his expression too blank to truly be calm. She swallowed, and Sam eyed his brother warily.

"Where?" Sam asked.

"In a book," Dean spat. "In Dr. Mason's office."

There was a long silence. The three of them were still kneeling in the grave, Sam and Jayne both staring at Dean. Jayne looked up at her sister, who frowned down at them in confusion. Then Dean stood up abruptly and slammed the coffin shut.

His face was still eerily blank, and his eyes were dark. "I say we pay Angela's father another visit," he drawled.

The drawl gave her shivers. So did the empty coffin and the weird symbols, and all the implications that came with those things, but none of it compared to the way Dean's dark eyes and too low, too even voice made her feel.

It hadn't exactly started off great, anyhow, but now Jayne was certain this hunt was only going to get worse.


	6. Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to AshlynPaige92, SPN Mum, Nelle07, angeleyenc, Spelllesswonder29, and ColtFan165 for the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things<p>

Dean had wanted to knock down Dr. Mason's door immediately after finding Angela's coffin empty, and he hadn't given a damn if it _was_ the middle of the night. Sam had insisted they wait until the morning, however, and then Jayne and Lynn had gone and agreed with him. Dean thought it was stupid; the old man had summoned a freaking zombie, and they wanted to be considerate about his beauty rest?

"We don't know it's him," Sam had retorted when Dean voiced this opinion over Angela's grave. "And you have no idea _what_ those symbols mean."

So instead of going to Dr. Mason's house, they'd finished filling in the hole and then gone to the college library. Late study nights were apparently common among college co-eds, and the place was open as late as the bars – at least, according to Sam it was. Dean didn't really know, and he didn't really care.

But he'd let Sam have his way. He'd sat still in the ugly, yellow light of the campus library – well, still enough, all things considered – and waited patiently while Sam, Lynn and Jayne had dug through the library's collection of ancient Greek text books and uncovered the meaning of the symbols carved into Angela Mason's coffin. And when they found out that the symbols were part of an ancient Greek ritual used in necromancy, he hadn't even said 'I told you so.'

The other three had still made him wait until morning. So Dean had waited. He'd waited until eight o'clock, and then he'd jumped in the car and drove off as fast as he could, nearly leaving the other three behind at the motel.

Now, the Impala was parked at the curb, several houses down from a stately two-story Victorian with a tiny front lawn. The house was about two blocks away from the college campus, on the corner of two silent streets. There was a film of clouds over the sky, making the early morning light gray, and everyone was clearly still in their beds. It was too early to be pounding on anyone's door, but Dean didn't give a damn.

He marched right up the grand front steps, past the ornate white pillars, and crossed the large, sweeping front porch. The other three followed him up the steps and stood awkwardly around him, casting him sideways glances. He pretended not to see them and pounded loudly on the oversized maroon door. Lynn grimaced at the sound, and Sam leveled the side of Dean's face with a concerned look. "Dean, just take it easy, all right?" he murmured.

Dean ignored his brother's request and knocked on the door again. His hands were twitching and he couldn't stand completely still. Jayne stood behind him, where he couldn't see her, and he didn't turn around to look. He could feel her eyes on his back, and that was enough to tell him she was giving him a similar look to the ones Sam and Lynn were giving him.

He'd had enough of that look.

It didn't take long for Dr. Mason to answer. When the balding professor opened the door, it was clear he hadn't woken up nearly as early as they had. He was wearing sweats and a tee shirt underneath a long, plaid robe, and he frowned at the four of them in recognition. "You're Angie's friends."

"Dr. Mason," Sam began gently, but Dean interrupted.

"We need to talk," he snapped.

Sam made an apologetic face at the older man, and even though he looked taken aback, Dr. Mason stepped away from the door to let them pass inside. "Please, come in."

Dean immediately pushed his way into the house. The other three followed right behind him, and he could hear the thumping of their boots on the hardwood floors of the foyer. Dr. Mason shut the door and directed his visitors down the long, wide, white hall.

The four hunters convened in the office directly across from the doorway. Nobody sat down, not even the professor, who stood frowning at the rest of them. The room was white except where it had been paneled with wood, and flecked with small, expensive lamps. Sam was talking to the professor, trying to explain why they were bothering the man so early in the morning, but Dean barely listened to Sam's interlude. He interrupted his brother, whipping out the paper that Sam had copied the symbols onto and handing it to Dr. Mason.

"You teach ancient Greek," he practically accused the other man. "Tell me, what are these?"

Dr. Mason took the paper and frowned at it in confusion. He looked up at the other three hunters, but neither of them made a move to explain, so the professor looked at Dean again, who stared right back with hard, unsympathetic eyes. "I don't understand. You said this had something to do with Angela."

"It does," Dean assured him. "Please, just humor me."

The professor shrugged and looked down at the paper. "They're part of an ancient Greek divination ritual."

"Used for necromancy," Dean supplied. "Right?"

"That's right."

"You see, before we came over here, we stopped by the library and did a little homework ourselves," Dean drawled. "Apparently, they used rituals like this one for communicating with the dead – even bringing corpses back to life. Full on zombie action."

"Yeah," Dr. Mason agreed with another shrug. "I mean, according to the legends."

Dean glowered at the man standing in front of him. The professor had the audacity to look confused, to affect nonchalance. Dr. Mason handed the paper back to Dean. "Now, what is this about?" the man asked.

"I think you know," Dean spat.

"Dean," Sam murmured.

"Look, I get it," Dean kept going, ignoring his brother. "There are people I would give _anything_ to see again, but what gives you the right?"

"_Dean_," Sam insisted.

"What are you talking about?" Dr. Mason demanded, his voice starting to shake.

"What's dead should stay dead!" Dean exploded.

"What?"

"Stop it!" Sam ordered.

"What you brought back isn't even your daughter anymore!" Dean bellowed. "These things are vicious, they're violent – they're so nasty they rot the ground around them! I mean, come on! Haven't you seen _Pet Cemetery_?"

"You're insane," Dr. Mason replied, and he marched past Dean towards the phone.

Dean turned, following the man with his eyes. Vaguely, he was aware that Sam was trying to get his attention – he barely felt Lynn tug on his arm. Nothing made a distinct impression; nothing made him stop. "Where is she?" he demanded.

"Get out of my house," Dr. Mason retorted, dialing the phone. Dean snatched the receiver away from him and slammed it back down.

"I know you're hiding her somewhere! Where is she?"

Sam grabbed his arm. "Dean, stop, that's enough! Dean! Look, beautiful, living plants!"

His brother yanked him around so Dean could see the corner of the room, under the open window. Dim light streamed in through the flimsy white curtain, over an old, expensive looking hutch. There were several vases on the hutch – some containing healthy, vibrant pink and white orchids, and the others long, viney green plants. "We're leaving," Sam announced, pulling on Dean's arm again.

"I'm calling the police," Dr. Mason said.

Dean jerked his arm free and marched for the door. Jayne stepped out of his way, but her eyes were on his face. Dean refused to look at her, and pressed on by.

"Sir, we're sorry," he heard Sam tell the professor. "We won't bother you again."

Jayne followed him across the foyer – he could hear her boots on the hardwood. Dean tossed open the door and stormed out onto the porch. Still, she followed him. The sound of running echoed behind them, and Dean quickened his pace, knowing Sam and Lynn were on their heels.

He glanced at the lawn as he stomped down the large front steps that took up most of the front yard. If they'd been bothering to pay attention, he realized, they would have noticed the lawn overflowing with hearty, healthy, leafy green shrubs, so large they were starting to overcrowd the steps. That didn't mean anything, he told himself. Dr. Mason could be hiding his daughter anywhere.

Jayne caught up to him immediately, squeezing in at his side as he descended the steps. "Dean," she said hoarsely.

He barely glanced at her. "I'm fine," he snapped.

Even out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw her purse her lips and cock her eyebrow. "Bull shit."

That was all she got a chance to say before Sam and Lynn caught up to them. Dean stepped off the last gray stone step, and onto the sidewalk. Sam brushed past Jayne and practically ran into Dean's elbow. "What the hell is the matter with you, Dean?" he demanded.

"Back off," Dean replied, eyes on his car, parked only a few paces ahead.

"That man is innocent! He didn't deserve that!"

"Ok, so she's not here. Maybe he's keeping her somewhere else."

Sam moved a step up, trying to block Dean's march to the car. "Stop it!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing around the too quiet street. "That's enough, ok? Enough!"

"Sam, I know what I'm doing!"

"No, you don't! At all!"

Dean snickered, shaking his head, annoyed beyond annoyed. He kept walking down the road, his eyes focused ahead of him, trying to ignore his little brother. "Dean, I don't scare easy, but man, you're scaring the _crap_ out of me!" Sam announced.

"Don't be overdramatic, Sam."

That was the last straw for Sam. He cut in front of Dean, his arms flying up confrontationally. Dean stopped in his tracks and finally leveled his eyes at his brother. "You're lucky this turned out to be a real case," Sam informed him. "Because if it wasn't, you'd have just found something else to kill."

Lynn was pressing in between them now, but Dean barely glanced at her as she tried to separate them. "Ok, boys," she murmured quietly, breathless from jogging to keep up with their angry, long-legged strides. She glanced nervously around the street. "Maybe we can have this fight somewhere else."

Dean completely ignored her. "What?" he asked his brother.

"You're on edge, you're erratic… except for when you're hunting, because then you're downright scary!" Sam retorted.

He took a moment of pause at that, blinking as he absorbed Sam's comment. "You're tail-spinning, man!" Sam barreled on. "And you refuse to talk about it, and you won't let any of us help you!"

Dean stared at his brother, and then let his eyes sweep over Lynn and Jayne. Lynn was still pressed between them, and now she'd caught her lower lip between her teeth in a worried, helpless expression. Jayne stood off to the side, her arms folded over her chest, trying to stay removed from the situation, but it wasn't working. She met his eyes, and Dean quickly looked away.

"I can take care of myself, thanks," he informed them. Then he turned his back on all three of them and continued his march down the street.

But Sam wasn't letting it go. "No, you can't!" he shouted, following after him. "And you know what, Dean? You're the only one who thinks you should have to! You don't have to handle this on your own, Dean. No one can!"

"Sam, if you bring up Dad's death one more time, I swear…"

"Dean, please. It's killing you. Please."

It was the please that did it. Not the observation that their father's death was killing Dean – it was the please that made him stop in his tracks and listen. Dean stared at his brother, and Sam stared back. "We've already lost Dad," Sam said. "We've lost Mom. _I've_ lost Jessica. And now I'm going to lose you too."

There was a moment of pause. Dean kept staring at Sam, who was wearing a pleading expression. Lynn shuffled awkwardly at Sam's shoulder and took a step backwards. Jayne cleared her throat from behind him, and Dean turned to look at her in surprise.

"I don't want to interrupt you guys' moment, or whatever," she said, not making eye contact with any of them. "But, uh… awkward for the rest of us, so… middle of the street, zombie on the loose… let's get out of here, all right? Have this powwow later."

Her eyes settled on the rest of them very briefly, and she could not have looked more uncomfortable. Then she looked away as quickly as possible and headed for the car. Dean watched her go, and swallowed hard as she climbed into the backseat of the Impala.

Lynn shrugged and tried to smile at him, but Dean's blank stare made her falter. She followed after her sister, looking like she wanted to take off running down the street. Dean looked at Sam again, and Sam stared back expectantly.

"She's right," Dean said. "We better get out of here before the cops come."

Sam blinked, and shook his head, hurt and disappointed. "I hear you," Dean rushed to say. "Ok? I'm being an ass! And I'm sorry. But right now we've got a freaking zombie running around, and we've got to figure out how to kill it!"

Sam shook his head again. Then he laughed. Dean frowned, studying his brother's face. "Right?" he demanded.

His brother simply shook his head one more time. "Our lives are weird, man."

"You're telling me."

Sam didn't say anything. He just looked at Dean, his mouth turned up at the corner in a half amused smirk. "Come on," Dean ordered, turning his back on Sam and heading for the car.

He knew this fight wasn't over, because Sam didn't follow him right away. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, probably trying to regroup or whatever. Dean ignored him, opening the car door and sliding in behind the wheel. A few moments later, Sam joined the rest of them in the Impala.

Nobody talked on the drive back to the motel. It was a damn good thing too, Dean decided, because he wasn't ready to talk about anything – not with Sam, not with Jayne, and most definitely not with Lynn. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulled out of the professor's neighborhood and back onto the crowded, downtown streets.

"Dean?" Lynn said suddenly in the backseat.

"What?" he snapped.

"I just want you to know there are rubber wrappers _all_ over your floor."

Guiltily, Dean's eyes swung to Jayne in the rearview mirror. She stared determinedly out the car window, a slight pink tinge to her cheeks. Dean returned his focus to the road, tightening his grip on the wheel. The already uncomfortable silence in the car seemed to get worse.

The night before was just one more subject Dean really didn't want to talk about. Leave it to Lynn, although inadvertently, to bring it up.

* * *

><p>Jayne leaned on the wall of the twenty-four hour diner, right by the takeout counter, and drummed her fingers on her thigh. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to rid herself of an impending migraine by sheer force of will. The harsh fluorescent lighting overhead was not helping her head pain – in fact, it was making it worse. Jayne squinted around the dingy yellow room, her eyes roving over the tiny space and its crammed-in seating. There was only one other customer in the diner, a grizzled old trucker in a greasy red cap, and he was standing at the takeout counter too, a Styrofoam coffee cup in his hand and his eyes on a crinkled newspaper.<p>

She looked out the large front window, her eyes settling on the back of Dean's Impala. It was early evening, and his car was parked under a barely glowing streetlamp. Several bushes yawned over the Impala's front bumper. Dean was waiting in the car, probably rereading Angela Mason's stupid pink diary. Jayne sighed and rubbed her forehead, sagging against the diner wall.

The cashier called her name then, and plopped two greasy white bags on the takeout counter. Jayne snatched them up in one hand, and marched out the glass door. She strode purposefully across the drive and up to the passenger side of the Impala. Dean looked up as she slid into her seat and slammed the door. Sure enough, Angela's diary was in his lap, titled against the steering wheel.

"Did you get the pie?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes and shoved one of the bags at him. "Yeah, yeah, I got your damn pie."

He opened the bag to check, and breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. Jayne rolled her eyes again. "Find anything interesting in that diary?" she grunted.

Dean crinkled his nose and shrugged, handing the bag back to her. "Sort of. I mean, Angela Mason was kind of the most boring girl on earth, but her buddy Neil?"

"Neil the geek?"

"Yeah, him. She mentions him a lot, and how he's always _there_ for her. You know, like… _there _for her. All the time."

Jayne raised an eyebrow at him. "So he was there for her."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Read between the lines. Serious puppy love. And apparently, he's her father's TA too, so he'd have access to the same books…"

"So you think it was him?" she asked. "You think Neil brought her back."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe?"

They were silent for a moment. Dean drummed his fingers on the diary in his lap, and then slapped it shut and tossed it over his shoulder. Jayne watched it land on the backseat and then glanced at Dean again. He started the car and shifted out of park. Slowly, the car glided backwards out of its parking space, and then Dean maneuvered the machine towards the street.

Jayne found herself staring at the side of his face, her fingers clutching too tightly at the tops of the takeout bags. He didn't look at her – kept his eyes focused on the road. "So," she murmured, and then hesitated a moment. She cleared her throat. "About earlier."

"Don't," Dean returned too quickly, his voice low and determined. Jayne swallowed, still staring at him. He didn't look at her. "I don't want to talk about that again."

She scoffed on instinct. "Again? I wasn't aware you'd been talking about it at all."

"Let's not do this, all right? I get it; Sam was loud and clear back there. I'm being a jackass. I said sorry, so let's move on."

There was a long silence. Dean kept his eyes on the road, and Jayne stared straight out the windshield. "You're right," she said after a while. "You _are_ being a jackass. But that's not actually our biggest problem."

"You're telling me," Dean retorted. "We've got a zombie girl running around town, and we've got to figure out a way to kill her."

"Yeah," Jayne rolled her eyes. "Also a pressing issue. Still not what I was getting at."

They lapsed into silence again. Dean's shoulders were visibly tense, and his hands were gripping the wheel too tight. He still wouldn't look at her, and it was starting to tick her off. Jayne glanced at him out the corner of her eye, and then returned her eyes to the windshield, drumming her fingers on the car door. The car was too silent. Uncomfortable, she studied her lap, and then she wet her lips.

"We can't have you running around half-cocked, ready to blow at the smallest trigger," she announced.

He side-eyed her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. She stared full on at his profile. "I know I keep saying this," she told him. "And you're tired of it. But you won't _hear_ me, so what am I supposed to do?"

"I _do_ hear you," he insisted vehemently. It surprised her into silence. She hadn't expected an answer. He shot her another glare. "I hear Sam, too. I get it, ok? What I did back there at the professor's house…"

"What you did back there at the professor's house is something you've been doing all too often lately," she interrupted. "You attacked that guy because he was Angela's father. That's all."

He scoffed, but Jayne didn't buy it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You thought her father brought her back," Jayne pressed. "You went after him – you blamed him for something that had _nothing_ to do with him."

"Yeah, I get it. He didn't do it, all right? I made a mistake. Sorry!"

She shook her head and stared at him. Dean looked like he was trying to ignore her, but he wasn't doing that great a job. He kept glancing at her out the corner of his eye, and his shoulders were too tense for someone supposedly oblivious to her gaze. Finally, he gave up. "What?" he snapped.

Jayne tore her eyes from his face and glowered out the windshield. "Just forget it."

"Fine."

They fell silent again. Not another word was exchanged on the drive back to the motel. Once Dean parked the car, Jayne immediately climbed out and stormed off towards the motel with the takeout bags in hand. Dean followed behind her, moving slow, keeping his distance.

She knocked on the door of the boys' motel room. Lynn answered the door almost instantly, and held it wide so Jayne could stomp inside. She marched across the room to the table under the window, set the bags down beside her sister's open laptop, ignored Sam's greeting – who proceeded to frown at her from where he sat on the edge of his bed – and then she shrugged violently out of her coat and tossed it into the corner of the room. Dean walked in a few seconds later, cleared his throat and attempted to sound normal.

"So… figure out how to kill her yet?" he asked.

Sam snorted. "Not exactly."

Jayne looked around the motel room, still in a foul mood. Sam hadn't moved from the bed, and he was holding John Winchester's journal in his hands. Lynn had been standing by the door, but now she made her way back to the table and took a seat in one of the empty chairs, tilting her laptop towards her. A few of Russ's old yellow notepads sat on Lynn's right, and there was a stack of library books next to the television set. Dean stood at the decorative room partition just inside the door and took off his jacket, stretching so he could hang it over the TV. He frowned at Sam. "So we can't just waste her with a headshot?"

"Dude," Sam retorted, shaking his head. "You've been watching way too many Romero flicks."

Jayne rolled her eyes and lowered herself into the seat across from Lynn. Impatiently, she began to drum her fingers on the tabletop as Dean, clearly agitated, started to pace the room. "You're telling me there's no lore on how to smoke them," he said in annoyance.

"No, Dean, I'm telling you there's too much," Sam replied.

"We've got about a hundred different legends on the walking dead," Lynn spoke up, glaring at her laptop as her fingers flew across the keys. "And just as many methods for killing them."

"Some say to light them on fire," Sam explained, getting to his feet and pacing after his brother while continuing to thumb through the journal. "One said… where is it? Oh, here. 'Feeding their hearts to wild dogs.' That's my personal favorite."

Jayne gritted her teeth and glanced at Lynn. "So we've got nothing?" she asked.

Lynn nodded. "Pretty much."

"Hold on," Dean returned. "Is there anything they all have in common?"

"No," Sam scoffed. "Although a few did mention silver."

Dean nodded. "Silver's a start."

"Yeah, but how are we going to find Angela?"

"I say we check out Neil's place," Jayne murmured.

Sam frowned. "Neil?"

"Yeah, I got a theory about that guy," Dean said. "If Dr. Mason didn't bring his daughter back then I think Neil did."

Sam's frown got deeper. "How'd you come up with that?"

Dean headed for his coat and dug Angela's pink diary out of the pocket. "You've got your journal, I've got mine," he replied, flipping the diary open and reading a passage out loud: "'Neil's a real shoulder to cry on – he so understands what I'm going through with Matt.' There's more here where that came from. It's got unrequited Ducky love written all over it."

Sam looked skeptical. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean he brought her back from the dead."

"Hm. Did I mention he's also Professor Mason's TA? Has access to all the same books."

Sam took pause at that, lifting his eyebrows in appreciation for the new theory. Jayne cleared her throat and got to her feet. "Ok, so Neil looks like our guy," she said. "I say we eat this crap, and head over to his place. Find Angela."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam murmured.

"I'll head out to the car," Lynn spoke up, closing her laptop and getting to her feet as well. "Look for some silver bullets."

She headed for the door and stepped out into the parking lot. A sliver of sunlight streamed into the room, and then quickly vanished once the door fell shut again, leaving the other three in the gloom of the depressingly ugly motel room. Jayne turned to the table and opened one of the takeout bags. Dean took a seat in Lynn's abandoned chair and grabbed the other bag of food.

The atmosphere had become strained and silent. Jayne tried to ignore it – tried to ignore everything, and everyone, and focus on unwrapping her greasy diner meal. Dean wasn't looking at anybody, intent on his pie, but Jayne couldn't shake the feeling of Sam's eyes on her. She glanced his way, and he looked at the floor, chewing on his lip. He wanted to say something; he had an argument he wanted to finish.

But Sam didn't say anything. He swallowed down whatever had been on the tip of his tongue, and marched over to the table under the window. Dean handed him the remains of the takeout bag, and Sam dug out his meal. Then he retreated back to his bed and took a seat, eating his dinner silently.

Jayne slowly sat at the table too, carefully not looking at Dean. She didn't trust herself not to attack him – didn't trust herself not to try and finish the conversation in the car. It wasn't that she _wanted_ to talk about it, because honestly she'd be perfectly glad to sweep this whole mess under the rug and never speak of it again. But that wasn't going to happen, not when the mess kept rearing its head, popping up at every turn, making its presence known despite everyone's unwillingness to talk about it.

They just had to finish this job, she decided. Then she'd talk to him again – she'd poke at the wound. There had to be a way, if not to fix things, to at least make them slightly better. The way things stood was not going to work in the long haul.

And unfortunately for Jayne, she was starting to realize she was most definitely in this mess for the long haul.

* * *

><p>It was after dark when the Impala coasted to a stop in front of Neil's dark blue rental home. Sam sat in the passenger seat, watching the house as Dean put the car in park. The windows were dark, and Neil's car was missing from the drive.<p>

"Looks like nobody's home," Lynn observed from the backseat.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at her. She was sitting behind Dean's seat, frowning out the opposite window. Jayne was beside her, her heel perched on the edge of the backseat and her elbow resting on her knee, looking totally bored and desperate to be elsewhere.

She better hope Dean didn't notice she had her boots on his upholstery.

Dean stepped out of the car and slammed the driver's side door behind him. Jayne took that as her cue to get out too, and swung open her car door. Sam and Lynn followed her lead, and all three of them clambered out of the Impala and headed for the house several feet behind Dean, who had already clambered onto the porch and was now focused on picking the lock.

Sam leaned on the porch post and surveyed the dark street. The streetlights were faint and cast small blue circles of light on the pavement. All the other houses and trees and shrubs were nothing but shadows. He heard the clicking of Dean's pick against the door lock – heard his brother cussing at the thing under his breath. Finally, there was one last click, and Sam turned at the creak of the hinges as Dean pushed the door open.

Lynn ducked into the house on Dean's heels. Jayne lounged against the wall by the door and raised her eyebrow at Sam. He gave her a forced half-frown, half-smirk, and then he headed inside Neil's house. Jayne followed after him and gently shut the door.

"Hello?" Dean bellowed into the empty house. "Neil! It's your grief counselors! We've come to hug!"

It was pitch black inside, with only a little light coming in through the foggy glass window on the door. No one answered Dean's shout, so the four of them kept moving. Dean had his gun out and was picking his way across the wood floor of the cramped entrance, past the narrow staircase. Lynn pulled her pistol from her dark denim jacket and cocked it.

"Silver bullets?" Sam asked.

"Enough to make her rattle like a change purse," Dean replied.

"Well, _that_ was a little insensitive," Lynn scolded under her breath – and then quickly changed her tune. "Although, if living dead girl _does _pop out of the woodwork, I am totally filling her full of silver, so…"

"Everyone shut up," Jayne grunted from the back of the line.

Lynn rolled her eyes and muttered something indiscernible under her breath. Sam felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips, and shook his head in amusement. He followed Dean and Lynn to the end of the entry and through the doorway on the right. The four of them crept down an unlit, beige colored hallway, eyes and ears peeled for any sign of Neil or Angela Mason. Nobody impeded them as they made their way into the dark living room.

The first thing Sam saw was a row of dead plants on a shelf by the window. He pointed it out to the others, but they simply nodded and kept pressing through the room. Dean stopped short on the other side of the living room, right beside a dark wood door. Sam pushed past him, frowning into the rest of the house, and Lynn followed him, standing right behind his shoulder with her gun aimed straight ahead of them. When neither Jayne nor Dean made to follow them, Sam frowned over his shoulder at them, finding Jayne standing to the side, eyeing Dean with a slightly confused expression on her face, and Dean eyeing the door – more specifically, the heavy duty bolt on the door. Dean made eye contact, and nodded at the bolt. Sam frowned some more, and Dean repeated the nod.

"Unless this is where he keeps his porn," Dean cracked.

Sam rolled his eyes and unfastened the bolt. Slowly, he opened the door and darted backwards. Dean threw himself in through the door with the gun aimed ahead of him, and then pointed the weapon down the dark, narrow basement steps. Once Dean had given the ok, the other three followed him inside and down the stairs.

The ceiling was low, and Sam had to stoop slightly to avoid cracking his skull on one of the overhead beams. It was an unfinished basement, with cement floors and bare, whitewashed cinderblock walls. Sam stood at the foot of the stairs as Dean and Lynn pushed their way deeper into the basement, guns aimed in front of them. Jayne stepped quietly off the last step and stood beside him, her own gun clutched low, by her hip.

Sam took in the dark, dank basement, his eyes traveling over the exposed heating and ventilation systems, and finally the cot set up to the left of the stairs. The bed was messy and unmade – and most importantly, empty.

"Sure looks like a zombie pen to me," Dean observed, lowering his gun.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "An empty one."

"Well, that's great," Lynn grumbled, tucking her gun back in her waistband. She huffed, and glared around the deserted basement. "Now what?"

Sam crept deeper into the room, eyes on the empty bed. He glanced back at the other three hunters. "You think she's going after someone?" he asked.

Dean crossed the cement floor to the vent on the far basement wall. Sam watched him pull on the grate, revealing that the metal covering was just barely hanging on by a single nail, leaving a space wide enough for a person to fit through.

"Nah," Dean quipped. "I think she went out to rent _Beaches_."

"Look, smartass," Sam snapped. "She might kill someone. We got to find her, Dean!"

"Yeah," Dean sighed, rubbing his face. "All right, uh… she clipped Matt because he was cheating, right?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"Well, it takes two to, you know…" Dean smirked. "Have hardcore sex."

Sam rolled his eyes. Jayne leaned one shoulder against the pole at the side of the stairwell, crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. Sam frowned at her, seeing the side of her mouth quirk involuntarily into a small smirk, although she tried to fight it. He exchanged a look with Lynn, who was standing just behind him, and she simply shrugged at him before turning her back on all three of them. Sam looked back at his brother just in time to catch him winking at Jayne, and his mouth fell open of his own accord.

Jayne rolled her eyes, and Dean went on talking. "I don't know, it just seemed like Angela's roommate was… broken up about Matt's death," he said. "I mean, like…_ really_ broken up."

"So you think the boyfriend cheated with the roommate?" Lynn asked.

Dean nodded. "Sure. Sounds plausible to me."

"So Angela's going back to her old apartment to get revenge on Lindsay," Sam mused. "We better get over there."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Dean retorted. He marched back for the stairwell, and jogged back up to the first floor. Jayne pushed herself off the pole and quickly followed him. Sam frowned again, and chanced another look at Lynn. She didn't look at him; she simply climbed the steps after her sister.

Sam followed them upstairs, and then shut the door behind him, gently sliding the bolt back into place. Dean was leading the way out the front door, and Sam hurried after him.

He waited until Jayne and Lynn had stepped off the porch, and then Sam grabbed his brother's arm to keep him from following. "Dude," he hissed at Dean. "What is going on with you two?"

Dean frowned at him. "Two?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You and Jayne," he clarified. "What's going on with you two? What's with all the secret smirking and suggestive winking?"

Dean's expression remained blank. "No idea what you're talking about, Sammy."

Sam scoffed. "Bull! Are you two…? Did you two…? Last night, when you… did you…?"

"Look, Sam," Dean interrupted smoothly, a smirk crossing his face. "I'm not really comfortable discussing women I may or may not have slept with, with you. So… let's go."

Sam stopped him again, shaking his head incredulously. "You've never been uncomfortable discussing it with me before," he pointed out. "In fact, _I'm_ the one who's uncomfortable, but that never stops you from giving me _way_ too many details about the girls you pick up in bars."

Dean blinked at him, and said nothing. He simply cocked his head to the side, considered Sam's argument, and shrugged. Then he turned around and practically ran to the Impala.

Sam was considerably frustrated by this point, and walked to the car, shaking his head the whole way. All four of them clambered into the Impala, and Dean tore away from the curb, speeding down the street towards Angela Mason's rental house.

It was getting to be too much. Dean was keeping way too many things from him. He was refusing to talk about Dad, Dad's death, the demon… now he was refusing to talk about Jayne. Dean was spiraling – had been spiraling ever since their father dropped down dead on the Sioux City Hospital floor. If there was something going on between his brother and Jayne, it seemed like an awful time for that something to start. Too much crap had already been flung at his brother – too much crap had already been flung at _all four of them_, and nobody could afford to have their support system torn away from them right now.

Messing with the order of things… if Dean and Jayne were… well, it was none of his business, and now that he'd had a moment to reflect, Sam decided he really didn't want to get involved at all.

He just really hoped whatever was going on in that corner didn't wind up making everything else worse.

* * *

><p>Lynn leaned against the door, lounging in the back of Dean's Impala with one leg crossed over the other, and eyed her sister irritably. Jayne was sitting beside her, on the opposite end of the backseat, staring out the car window. The dark streets and shadowed houses and flickering streetlamps flew past them as Dean drove too fast, determined to get to Angela's roommate before Angela did.<p>

Her sister was hiding something, and Lynn was tempted to pounce on her, demanding answers. She might even do it if Sam and Dean weren't sitting up front. The last thing she wanted was for one of the boys to witness the discussion – particularly as she was certain that the thing Jayne was hiding had something to do with one of the Winchesters.

Lynn had a feeling, deep in her gut, that her need to know what was going on with Jayne was actually quite misplaced. Deep, _deep_ in her gut, she knew it was none of her business, and she knew it wasn't a reflection on her relationship with her sister if Jayne chose not to talk about it.

It still _felt_ like a reflection on their relationship, and it both frustrated and hurt that Jayne would not talk about it. Really, by this point in their lives, Lynn should have been used to it. She knew how Jayne was, how Jayne didn't really like to talk about… well, anything. Still, it hurt and frustrated her, because by this point in their lives, Jayne should know that Lynn was her sister and would do anything for her and therefore, Jayne should confide in her. It was only natural.

The car jerked suddenly to a stop, brakes squeaking, and Dean slammed it in park. The moment the car stopped, Sam and Jayne threw open their doors and leapt out of the car. Lynn clambered out of the backseat as Dean shut down the engine, and then she and Dean raced after their siblings, up the front walk, onto the front porch, and right through the front door.

She was greeted by both terrified and angry screaming, coming from two different young women. Short and at the back of the line, it was difficult to see what was going on at first. Lynn pulled her gun from her jeans as Dean ran on past her, running up to his brother and Jayne. Gunshots echoed through the house.

The screaming stopped immediately. Lynn pushed her way between Sam and Jayne, gun drawn, and took in the scene. A pair of bloody scissors lay abandoned on the wooden floor. The living room was dimly lit by a single lamp, but she could still make out the terrified brunette standing behind a sickly pale, furious woman with dark wavy hair, wearing a frilly white dress. She immediately recognized her from her father's photo album – this was Angela Mason.

Dean fired his gun again, and Lynn watched in sick fascination as the silver bullets burned black holes in the angry young woman's chest. She shuddered with the impact, but didn't go down. Instead, she turned her back and ran for the back of the house, much faster than Lynn had anticipated. Hollywood must have lied to her about the slow, slumping pace of the walking dead.

The large glass window at the back of the house was open, and Angela tore through it, disappearing into the night. Dean rushed after her, and Jayne followed behind him, her own gun in her hand. The roommate – Lindsay, if she remembered right – went weak at the knees and slumped towards the floor. Sam caught her around her torso, holding her up, and whispered comforting nonsense to the girl. She wasn't listening – Lynn could tell by the slack, horrified expression on her face as she continued to stare at the window her dead roommate had escaped through.

Lynn made her way cautiously to the window, holding her gun up in front of her. She jumped when Dean's head appeared in the frame and nearly shot him in the face. Dean held up his hands in surrender.

"Whoa," he said. "Put that thing away, will you?"

She lowered the gun, smiling sheepishly, and gave him a nervous little laugh. "Sorry?" she apologized.

Dean didn't look amused as he hopped back into the house. Jayne stepped through the window just behind him.

"Damn, that dead chick can run," Dean quipped.

"What now?' Sam demanded.

Dean shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting in an unfriendly smirk. "I say we go have a little chat with Neil."

Sam was still holding Lindsay up, and the girl was still staring unresponsively at the window. Lynn sighed and shook her head. "Ok," she murmured. "What do we do with her?"

Dean frowned at Lynn, and then took a look at Lindsay. Sam stared down at the top of the girl's head. "Is she dying?" Jayne asked gruffly.

Lynn gave her a dirty look. "No."

"Then she's fine. Dump her on the couch, get her a drink… and then let's get the hell out of here."

It was a very insensitive thing to say – it wasn't an ok thing to do to a girl who'd nearly been killed and then had her world ripped out from under her. Lynn hesitated, glancing uncertainly at Lindsay. Much to her disconcertment, Sam was already following orders, steering the girl towards the sofa. Dean ducked into the kitchen, presumably after the drink Jayne had mentioned.

Lynn glared at her sister again, but Jayne didn't even look her way. Sam set Lindsay down on the couch, and Lynn marched over to her, taking a seat beside the distressed girl. Slowly, she rested her hand on Lindsay's shoulder.

Dean reappeared with a glass in his hand. Lindsay took it from him automatically and sucked down the amber liquid inside. "We need to get going," Sam murmured nervously, eyeing the exit. "She's still out there, and we've got to stop her."

He was right, but that didn't make her feel any less shitty. To be fair, however, Lindsay didn't look like she cared much one way or the other. She wasn't paying any of them any attention whatsoever. Her focus was entirely on the drink Dean had placed in her hands.

"Are you going to be all right?" Lynn asked her uncertainly.

"No," Lindsay murmured, her voice edged with faint hysteria. "Definitely not. My dead roommate just tried to kill me."

Lynn winced slightly, squeezing her shoulder. Lindsay shrugged away. "Honestly, really want to be alone," she squeaked. "Thanks and everything, but could you all just… go way and not come back, please?"

The request stung slightly. Lynn blinked, taken aback. Her sister snorted from the other side of the room. "Well, that's fair," Jayne said. "Let's go."

She turned her back on the rest of them and sauntered towards the front door. Lynn crinkled her nose and rolled her eyes – and then got to her feet and respected Lindsay's wishes.

Five minutes later, the four of them had climbed back into the Impala, Lynn seated beside her sister in the backseat once again. Dean had the car back on the street and was steering it down the dark, twisty roads towards the university. Sam was rattling off the address for Neil's office.

"Whoa," she spoke up. "Uh… hold up one second, boys. Before we track Angela down, don't we need another way to _kill her_?"

"Definitely," Jayne grunted beside her, lifting her leg up and leaning her knee against the car door.

"Well, the silver bullets…" Sam said. "They did _something_, right?"

"Yeah, something, but not enough," Dean retorted. "What else you got?"

Sam immediately began flipping through one of their many journals. "Uh… ok… besides silver, we have… nailing the undead back into their grave beds. It's mentioned a few times; it's probably where the whole vampire staking lore came from."

"Their grave beds?" Dean repeated incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"How the hell are we going to get Angela back to the cemetery?"

Sam shrugged. Lynn glanced at her sister, who raised her eyebrow unhelpfully. Lynn groaned and rolled her eyes, knocking her head back against the seat. "Great," she muttered. "So… I guess we're winging it?"

The silence she was met with was answer enough.

* * *

><p>Most of the college campus looked alike, Jayne decided as she followed the other three hunters through the main door of the Archeology and Greek Studies Department building. It was dark inside the red brick and white trimmed structure, a stark contrast to the way it had looked the last time they had been there. The green linoleum halls were empty and the lights were turned down so low that it was difficult to see past the shadows of cheap benches and open doors. They took the stairs this time, finding the stairwell floor and walls to be covered in the same sickly green linoleum as the hallway. When they reached Dr. Mason's floor, they headed straight for the TA offices at the end of the hall. Neil's foggy glass office door was easy enough to find, and when Dean threw the thing open, the thin, sallow, shaggy haired brunette was seated at his desk by the dim light of a lone lamp, looking a little too anxious for a guy supposedly grading papers.<p>

He looked up as they entered, frowning. "What are you guys doing here?" he demanded.

Dean smirked. "You know, I've heard of some people doing some pretty desperate things to get laid," he replied, ignoring the question. "But you? You take the cake."

He'd pulled ahead of the rest of them, coming to a stop directly before Neil's desk. Sam lurked just behind his shoulder. Jayne kept moving forward, away from the door, and around to the side of Neil's desk, her eyes trained steadily on his nervous face. Lynn leaned against the doorframe, barely six inches from the coat-rack, and folded her arms over her chest.

Neil was nervous and sweaty, and his hands fluttered as he played awkwardly with his number 2 pencil. "Ok, who are you guys?" he asked.

"You might want to ask Angela that question," Dean replied.

Neil's head was titled to the side. Jayne watched him carefully, rounding the corner of his desk. He was trying to look confused, but he wasn't that great an actor. "What?" he asked softly.

"We know what you did," Sam returned, shaking his head. "The ritual? Everything."

Jayne finally stopped her advance on the geeky grad student, leaning against the shelf behind his chair. Neil wet his lips, and then he scoffed, belatedly, before shaking his head and looking down at the desk. "You guys are crazy."

"Your girlfriend's past her expiration date, and _we're_ crazy?" Dean snapped. His voice was too low and too loud, echoing angrily around the cramped office. He leaned forward on the desk, getting into Neil's personal space. "When someone's gone, they should stay gone. You don't mess with that kind of stuff."

Neil said nothing.

"She's not even Angela anymore," Lynn spoke up quietly from her place on the other side of the room. Neil looked up at her in surprise. "You know that, right? You have to have sensed that. She seems different, doesn't she?"

Again, Neil gave no direct answer, but it didn't take an expert to read _his_ body language. The kid was a crappy liar. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his desk chair, staring at the desktop. "I don't have to listen to this," he muttered, starting to get to his feet. Jayne pushed herself off the shelf and gripped Neil's shoulder so hard, he winced. She forced him back into his seat.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," she told him a low, hard voice.

Neil didn't move again. Jayne leaned back against the shelf. "Angela killed Matt," Sam was saying now. "She tried to kill Lindsay."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Neil's latest attempt at denial was the last straw for Dean. The eldest Winchester stormed around the corner of the desk and grabbed the TA by the front of his striped polo shirt. Neil tried to protest as he was lifted from his chair, but Dean cut him off. "No more crap, Neil!" he practically growled. "This blood is on _your_ hands."

Neil stared at Dean, silent. Dean's eyes didn't waver from the student's face. "Now, we can make this right, but you got to tell us where she is."

The kid shook his head, looking at the floor. Dean shook him violently. "Tell us!" he snapped.

For another long moment, Neil said nothing. He just stared at Dean. Finally, he spoke. "My house," he murmured. "She's at my house."

Dean let him go. Jayne could have been disappointed at Neil's disclosure – they already knew he'd been keeping her at his house. They needed to know where she was _now_.

But her disappointment faded when she took a look down at the shelf she'd been leaning on and saw the collection of dead potted plants along the top. She looked up at the other three with wide eyes, and Dean mirrored her expression back at her. He saw the plants too, she realized.

"You sure about that?" he asked Neil.

Neil nodded unconvincingly, and then glanced very obviously towards the closet door. Jayne followed his eyes and raised her eyebrow. There was a brief moment of silence, and then Dean cleared his throat. "Listen," he announced, turning away from Neil and walking back towards Sam. "It doesn't really matter where she is. There's only one way to stop her; we've got to perform another ritual over her grave, uh… to reverse the one that you did. We need some black root, some scar weed, some candles… it's very complicated, but it'll get the job done. She'll be dead again in a couple of hours."

Neil was shaking his head, staring at the floor, obviously torn between fear of the thing in his office closet, and the desperate need to keep Angela alive, in whatever form necessary. She felt for him, if she were being honest. Sometimes, when it came to the people she loved, she was willing to do dark, dangerous things too.

But not like this. She had enough sense to realize this was wrong. Bringing back someone you love was understandable, but not if you brought them back as a monster. It wasn't all his fault – maybe he really hadn't known. Either way, no matter what Neil's puppy love was putting him through, Angela was toast.

"I think you should come with us," Dean said to Neil, much to Jayne's surprise. Neil looked surprised too, and simply gawked in response. "I'm serious, Neil. Leave with us, right now."

"No," Neil muttered, shaking his head and folding his thin arms over his chest. "No."

Jayne looked at Lynn, who was still hovering in the doorway. Her sister cast a nervous look at the closet, and then met Jayne's eyes again, jerking her head towards the exit. Jayne took the hint and pushed herself off the shelf again, moving slowly towards the door.

Dean glanced at the closet too, and then he leaned in closer to Neil. "Listen," he ordered in a low voice. "Get out of here as soon as you can. But most of all, be cool. No sudden movements. _Don't_ make her mad."

Neil cocked his head and frowned at that. Dean gave him a parting smirk, and then turned his back on the TA. Jayne slid through the door just behind her sister, and the boys marched out after them.

Nobody spoke until they'd reached the safety of the Impala. Four doors slammed, Dean turned over the engine, and soon they were driving down the dark, curvy road that led to the cemetery. "You think that worked?" Lynn asked nervously.

"No idea," Dean replied, eyes on the road. "Here's hoping."

"She was definitely in that office," Sam insisted. "She had to have heard. There's no way she won't show."

Jayne said nothing. She kept her eyes on the window, watching the shadows flicker on by. Angela might be on her way to that cemetery, and Neil might not be getting stabbed to death with a pencil right now. She wasn't about to get her hopes up – things didn't usually work out that well for them.

Dean's words were echoing around in her head – _what's dead should stay dead_.

He was one hundred percent, absolutely right. What was dead should stay dead. She knew that – she agreed.

Was it wrong that a tiny part of her didn't entirely care?

* * *

><p>Dean knelt in the grass, the hard, dry ground bruising his knees, and pulled his lighter from the back pocket of his jeans. His shoulders were sore from digging Angela's grave up once again, and sweat had developed along his forehead and his back. A pile of dirt sat on the edge of the deep, rectangular hole, and the coffin below was wide open.<p>

Lynn was kneeling at the head of the grave, placing another candle in the grass, and Sam was just across the grave from him lighting one of the other candles she had set up. Dean flicked his lighter, and lit a candle of his own. Jayne stood by the dead tree off to the right of Angela's temporary marker, watching the dark, tangled shrubs and trees that surrounded the graveyard.

"You really think this is going to work?" Sam asked, setting his now lit candle gently on the ground.

Dean glanced at him, and then snorted. "No, not really," he replied, and then he chuckled. "But it was the only thing I could come up with."

They lapsed into silence. Lynn finished placing the candles around the grave and got to her feet, brushing dirt off her knees. Dean lit another candle. Suddenly, a twig cracked in the nearby undergrowth.

All four of them turned towards the noise, their eyes peering into the darkness, but to no avail. Sam glanced back at him, and Dean met his eyes, giving him a single, short nod. Sam got to his feet, pulled his gun from his waistband, and headed off into the trees. Dean followed him with his eyes, reaching behind him to grab the long silver stake tucked into his belt. His stomach felt hollow, like some sort of hose had slithered inside him and sucked out his insides.

Sam vanished into the shadowy cluster of trees, and Dean got backed away from the grave, staying low to the ground, and ducked down behind a large headstone. He glanced back at Angela's grave, and found it deserted. Jayne and Lynn must have likewise concealed themselves.

He stood crouched behind the headstone for a few long minutes, worrying about his little brother with every passing second. But soon enough, he heard Sam's gun fire, the loud bang echoing around the too still bone-yard. He straightened up slightly, peering over the slab of granite he was hiding behind. Now he could hear the rustle and bustle of running footsteps against the dead leaves and too long grass. Seconds later, Sam burst through the trees and rushed across the graveyard. Angela appeared only a few steps behind him, her long white dress practically glowing in the faint sliver of moonlight as she chased his brother down at an unnatural speed.

She tackled him. Sam hit the ground face first. Angela grabbed him by the hair. Another gunshot rang out, and Dean stumbled onto his feet, finding Lynn on the other side of Angela's grave, kneeling behind a low gravestone and aiming her gun at Angela. The zombie stood still, nursing a new bullet hole in her chest, and stared at her. Then she abandoned Sam on the ground and took a step in Lynn's direction.

_Bang!_ The second gunshot came from behind Angela and burned a clip through the zombie's right shoulder blade. Angela turned around as Jayne popped out from behind a tall stone monument and fired her gun again. The bullet hit Angela in the collarbone, and the zombie stumbled backwards with the force of the impact. Jayne fired off another shot, and again the zombie moved backwards, towards her grave.

Dean ducked out from behind the headstone and started running, his stake dangling from his hand. Jayne's gun went off again, hitting Angela in chest. The zombie stumbled backwards again, and this time toppled into the gaping hole waiting just behind her. Dean slid across the grass, following the zombie into the hole.

"Wait!" Angela gasped, sitting straight up out of her coffin. "Don't!"

Dean buried the stake through her heart and pinned her back down against the plush white lining of her casket. Angela cried out in pain, and then slumped back into her coffin, a small breath escaping her lips. Dean watched her for a moment, his hands still gripping the handle of the stake. When she didn't move, he slowly let go of the weapon and took a step backwards, still watching carefully for any signs of life. Angela lay frozen in her grave bed.

"What's dead should stay dead," he muttered.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Dean whirled around to find Jayne and Sam standing on the solid ground just above his head. Jayne raised her eyebrow at him, but Dean ignored the look. He shut the coffin lid, and then Sam lent him a hand to haul him out of the grave.

Lynn sighed heavily, and Dean glanced over his shoulder to find her standing awkwardly at the temporary grave marker, tucking her pistol back in her jeans. She bent over and grabbed hold of one of the shovels that lay scattered around the gravesite. "All right," she announced, looking around at the rest of them with reluctance. "Let's fill her in."

Sam nodded and grabbed a shovel too. Dean tried to keep ignoring the holes Jayne was staring into his head as he sauntered away from the grave towards the shovel he'd left abandoned several feet away. Lynn grunted behind him and he heard her shovel scrape against the loose dirt beside the grave. Dean grabbed both his shovel and the shovel beside it before turning back towards the others.

He jumped, stopping short as he came nose to nose with Jayne. Her arms were folded over her chest, and she was still giving him that hard, penetrating gaze. Dean smirked at her and offered her the second shovel.

"Shovel?" he asked.

She glared at him, but automatically her hand closed over the handle. Dean let go of the tool and walked away from her. He wasn't going to talk about it. He wasn't going to admit anything or deny anything or argue about anything. He was going to fake it – pretend everything was normal – keep smirking and making jokes and act like everything was going to be just fine.

He joined Lynn and Sam, and Jayne followed him soon after. Sam winced as he dug his shovel into the dirt.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked.

"My hand hurts."

"Baby."

Sam glared, Dean smirked, and they all went back to digging.

They worked until early morning filling in that hole. The sun had just begun to rise, and the day was already getting warm when Dean tipped that last shovel full of dirt into the grave. They began patting the dirt down with the undersides of their shovels, trying to smooth out the obvious signs of recent digging. Barely anyone had spoken since facing off with Angela, concentrating on finishing their work so they could get the hell out of Dodge.

Breathless, Dean stopped scraping and patting at the dirt, leaning back on his shovel to survey their handiwork. The other three quit too, and Sam sighed heavily beside him.

"Rest in peace," he told the dirt.

"Yeah," Dean added. "For good this time, ok?"

He let the shovel swing loosely in his hand and bent over to pick up his coat, abandoned during the night when the exercise had made him sweat. He shook the dust off the jacket, and glanced over his shoulder at the other three. Lynn blew sweaty hair out her eyes and handed her shovel to her sister, who frowned at her in annoyance. Still, Jayne took the shovel.

"Let's get out of here, please," Lynn said. "I've had enough dirt and walking dead things to last me a lifetime."

"I'm with you," Dean returned. The four of them began picking their way through the grassy graveyard, headed for the paved road where they'd left the Impala. Sam hefted his shovel onto his shoulder and winced slightly. Lynn bent down and grabbed his coat off the ground for him, carrying it over her arm along with hers. "You know," Sam spoke up, his tone mild and conversational. "The whole fake ritual thing? Luring Angela into the cemetery? Pretty sharp."

Dean nodded, quirking his lips into a short-lived, barely detectable smirk. "Thanks."

"But did we have to use me as bait?"

Dean chuckled that. "Well, I figured you were more her type. She did have pretty crappy taste in guys."

Jayne snorted from behind them. "I think she broke my hand," Sam complained.

"You have a broken hand?" Lynn exclaimed.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"You've been digging all night with that hand."

"Yeah, it kind of hurts."

Lynn shook her head incredulously at him. Dean chuckled again. "You're just too fragile," he cracked. "We'll get it looked at later."

Sam and Lynn pulled ahead of him and Jayne wound up at his side. Dean stopped short and turned, chancing a glance back at his mother's headstone.

It was a red block of granite with the name Mary Winchester emblazoned across the rounded top, the years 1954-1983 underneath it. Dean stared at it a moment, feeling an odd, painful restricting of his chest muscles. There was a lingering thought in the back of his mind – it could have been regret.

"You want to stay for awhile?" Sam asked.

He swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "No," he told Sam. Then he turned his back on the headstone and marched for the car.

* * *

><p>The sun had risen all the way by the time Dean had wheeled the Impala into the parking lot of their motel, angling into the empty space beside gray, rusty old Janis. Lynn had gotten out of Dean's car immediately and marched straight into her motel room, not caring that her shovel was still in Dean's truck. Jayne had apparently reached a similar conclusion, as she didn't stop to grab her shovel either.<p>

Once both she and Jayne were inside, Lynn slammed shut the door, blocking out the early morning sunlight that was fighting to brighten up their dim and depressing motel room. She marched straight for her bed, hauling her mostly empty duffel bag off the floor and plopping it onto her mattress. Jayne did the same with her bag, and the two of them began cramming their few belongings into their duffels. They didn't speak for awhile, and that was fine. Lynn needed time to process, and she'd sure as hell bet Jayne did too.

Angela was back in her grave and freshly buried, but it hadn't really seemed to matter. Dean was still off, somehow – but he'd been off for weeks now. Sam didn't seem to have any more answers than Jayne and Lynn did. Honestly, Lynn was feeling like she wanted to bail again.

She didn't say any of that to Jayne, though. She simply powered through her packing, finishing before Jayne did, and then marched out to the parking lot. The bright sunlight caught her in the eyes, and she squinted as she strode purposefully to the truck. With a grunt, she tossed her duffel into the truck bed. Once the bag was situated, she turned back towards the motel. The door to her room was still wide open, and she could see Sam stepping out of the room next door. He nodded at her, and then crossed to the Impala, still parked directly next to the truck. Lynn frowned at him as he unlocked the trunk and tried hefting his bag into the back of the car. Instead of landing in the trunk, the duffel fell to the pavement and he cussed in pain, shaking his bad hand.

Lynn rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop herself from walking over to his side and taking hold of his bag for him. "You all right?" she asked, tossing the bag into the car.

Sam winced slightly, and gave her a sheepish smile. "Yeah, it's fine, I think. I could have gotten that."

He gestured at the bag. Lynn rolled her eyes again and slammed the trunk shut. "Whatever, Sam."

They were silent for a moment, standing awkwardly behind the Impala and staring at the pavement. Lynn leaned her hip against the Impala's back bumper and folded her arms over her chest. "Let me see it," she demanded.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Let me see it," Lynn insisted, snatching his wrist. Sam winced as she pulled his hand closer for examination. "Sorry," she muttered hastily, and then continued feeling the bones in his hand. Nothing felt amiss – swollen, maybe, but not broken. She traced the bones and lines on the back of his hand, and then his palm, and let her fingers caress his fingers just a little too long.

Sam didn't yank back his hand. He just watched her, though she could feel the tension in his muscles. Lynn felt the hairs stand up on her neck and a shudder ran down her spine. She swallowed and quickly let go. Sam's hand fell at his side.

"I don't think it's broken," she murmured, her voice catching. "Sprained, definitely. You might have bruised the bone, but it's not broken."

Sam swallowed this time and nodded, cradling the injured hand with his good one. "Thanks," he whispered.

They stood there a moment longer, staring at one another. Lynn cleared her throat and shrugged, affecting a bright smile. "All right, well… going to grab a Coke for the road, so…"

"Right," Sam nodded, a small, awkward grin twitching across his face. "Uh… ok, then."

She turned her back on him quickly and practically ran for the motel room. When she stepped through the open door, both Jayne and her bag were gone. Lynn sighed and slumped against the doorframe, surveying the empty room. Then she stepped back outside and slammed the door shut behind her.

Nothing was working out the way she wanted.

* * *

><p>Dean stuffed shirt after shirt into his duffel bag, finally alone now that Sam had vanished out into the parking lot. He was trying very hard not to focus on anything except packing – he didn't want to think about Angela, or his mother's grave.<p>

There was a knock on the open door. Dean turned slightly, looking over his shoulder. Jayne was leaning on the frame with her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. "Hey," she grunted at him. "You about ready to head out?"

"Yeah," he replied, nodding. "Just a minute."

He turned back to his bag, but she didn't leave. He could feel her lurking in the doorway behind him, staring holes into his back. For a moment, Dean ignored her, but she didn't leave and he didn't have the patience to wait her out. "What?" he demanded, not turning around.

Jayne's duffel hit the ground with a dull thump. "You all right?" she asked.

Dean sighed harshly. "Fine. Everything's fine."

She snorted. He heard her boots pounding gently against the matted carpet of his motel room floor. Suddenly she was at the foot of his bed, her arms folded over her chest, staring at him. "I can see that," she retorted dryly.

He dropped the last of his stuff into the bag, closed it with a vicious tug on the zipper, and then leveled her with an annoyed glare. "I'm _fine_. You're getting to be as bad as Sam."

Then he picked up his bag and headed for the door.

"You weren't really dead, you know," her voice echoed out behind him.

Dean stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned around to look at her. Jayne tilted her chin and stared him down. "You weren't dead," she said again.

There was a moment of silence as Dean stared at her. She stared back. "Sure I was," he finally said, in a low, hard voice. "I was in a coma – my brain wasn't working – there was a reaper after me, Jayne."

The word reaper had an effect on her, he could tell. Her chin wobbled slightly and her eyes lost their edge. But the reaction was small and brief, and he could almost think he'd imagined it when she tilted her chin towards the ceiling again and hardened her gaze. "You weren't really dead," she insisted, and if anything her insistence made things worse. The words were empty – they were meaningless. They were lies.

Dean shook his head and tore her eyes away from hers. "I was as good as," he told her. "You know that."

"It doesn't really matter," she replied. "You keep running around, acting like a suicidal idiot, just because you think you were supposed to die, and so it's your fault that John's gone instead…"

"Isn't it?" he interrupted sharply.

"No," she retorted bluntly. "John made a choice, Dean. Whatever happened, that's on him. He's dead, you're not, and you know what? That's not your fault. John's choice is John's choice, and that makes John's death nobody's fault but his. And I'm sick of you using it as an excuse to be a moron."

He stared at her, his mouth slightly open and then furrowed his brow. "So you agree with me?" he asked. "You think my dad... you think he did something. Pulled some strings, traded his life for mine…"

Jayne shook he head and turned away from him. Dean trailed off and stared at her back. "You think that's how it went down, too," he finished.

She met his eyes again. "Of course I do," she said.

There was a long silence. Dean stared at her, and she stared back. Finally, Dean shook his head and rasped out a low, bitter chuckle. "Well, that's just great," he muttered.

"I don't care, either," she snapped, and Dean gawked at her again.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't care," she said again. "Look, I'm sorry John's gone, but… I'm happy you're not. Don't expect me to regret you being alive. I won't."

He gawked at her some more. Jayne stared back steadily, her eyes hard, daring him to argue the point. Dean didn't argue, even though he didn't agree with her and didn't like what she had to say. There was no point in arguing.

"Glad you're happy, then," he practically spat. Then he turned away and marched for the door.

She caught him by the arm. Dean rolled his eyes and glared at her over his shoulder. "Look, I don't want to…"

Jayne cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips against his mouth, effectively silencing him. Dean started in surprise, his eyes going wide, and then slowly he shut them, relaxing into the feel of her lips on his. Slowly, she pulled away, but didn't let go of him. Dean stared at her, not sure what to say, or what to do, or even how he really felt about this turn of events.

"I know it doesn't really matter what I say," she said slowly. "You're going to feel guilty and angry no matter what. But… if you really feel that what happened was wrong, or unnatural…"

"It was," he cut her off.

His gaze didn't waver from hers. He locked up his jaw tight and stared at her hard. Jayne swallowed, and he detected something off in her eyes. In a flash, it was gone.

"Ok," she whispered. "But it's over now. You're here; John's not. And the way you've been acting lately… it'll permanently mess you up, Dean, if it doesn't kill you first. And I think that's a pretty poor way of honoring John's sacrifice."

Bottom line: it was a very unfair thing to say. Dean wanted to be angry with her; he wanted to lash out and push her away. Jayne didn't give him the chance. She let go of his face and brushed past him, walking away before he could run. Dean turned around and watched her heft her bag off the floor. She stepped outside into the parking lot without even glancing back in his direction.

It was none of her business, and she wasn't playing fair. He kept repeating that over and over in his head as he stormed out of his motel room, slammed the door, and stomped his way over to the car. Dad was dead, and it was his fault, and he had to live with that now – and reminding him of what he owed his father only made things worse. Dean's continued survival should not also be his obligation.

He threw his bag into the back of the Impala and slammed the trunk. Lynn and Jayne were both already in their truck, and Sam was waiting for him, leaning against the passenger side door and squinting at him against the sunlight. Dean ignored his brother's stare and climbed into the driver's seat. Sam joined him in the car as Dean slammed the door.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked.

"Fine," Dean snapped as he started the car.

Sam didn't say another word. Jayne's truck was already pulling out ahead of him, and Dean glared at the back bumper of the rusted gray piece in the rearview mirror. Jayne steered the truck out of the parking lot and turned left onto the main road. Dean tightened his jaw in annoyance and backed out of the parking space.

They navigated their way out of town and back onto the highway. It was difficult for Dean to focus on the road, to stop playing his conversation with Jayne over and over in his mind. It was difficult to let go of his anger.

Lately, everything was too difficult. That was the rub. Every day, waking up and going forward was just too damn hard.

He couldn't say that, though, not to anyone. He couldn't say it to Sam or Jayne, and he definitely didn't feel comfortable saying it to Lynn. Dean just had to keep pushing – that's what it amounted to. He had to keep moving on, for all the people still in his life. Hell, for his Dad too.

Even if all he really wanted to do was give up.

* * *

><p>Sam's hand was freaking <em>killing <em>him.

Lynn had said it wasn't broken, but he wasn't sure he believed her. All he knew was that the thing hurt so badly it was driving him to distraction. He coddled his hand to his chest as he stared out the window, massaging his hand gently and wincing every time he squeezed too tight.

They'd left Kansas by now, and the sun was high in the sky. All around them were tall, statuesque mountains freckled with snow and dark pine trees. The highway wove through the dangerous curves and slopes, nothing but a rusty guardrail separating them from the steep drop-offs that lined the road. Sam squinted up at the sky, mostly blue and open, save for a small fluffy white cloud here and there.

Jayne's old truck was navigating the mountains just ahead of them. Sam watched the back bumper of the aging gray vehicle as they climbed higher into the mountains. The truck took a curve, and then vanished momentarily from sight.

The Impala began to slow down. Sam frowned, glancing at his brother. Dean refused to look at him – he merely steered the car onto the dirt shoulder pressed against the mountainside. Then he put the thing in park, took out the keys and got out of the car.

Sam watched incredulously as his brother stepped out into the sunlight and rounded the front bumper of the Impala. Dean took up leaning space on the gleaming black hood, his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather coat. All Sam could think was, _what the hell was going on?_

He clambered out of the car next, trying awkwardly not to use his injured his hand, and joined his brother on the front of the car.

"Dean, what is it?"

Sam didn't get an answer right away. Dean just leaned on the car, staring at a point somewhere up the road from them. Even when he finally spoke, he still didn't look at Sam.

"I'm sorry."

He hadn't expected that. "You…" Sam started to say, and then changed tracts. "For what?"

Dean looked down at the dirt. "The way I've been acting."

That was all he got out of Dean, who continued to lean and stare and not look at Sam. Slowly, Sam leaned up against the car beside his brother, chancing short, concerned frowns in Dean's direction. This got him nowhere still, and so Sam stayed silent and started staring at the same, unseen point up the road that Dean's eyes were fixed upon.

"And for Dad."

Dean's voice was sudden, and his words were hedged, as though he didn't know how to say what was coming next. Sam frowned at him again. "He was your Dad too," Dean went on, still not meeting his eyes. "And it's my fault he's gone."

Sam shook his head. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

"I know you've been thinking it; so have I. All of us have. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital, I made a full recovery. It was a miracle. But five minutes later, Dad's dead and the Colt's gone. You can't tell me there's not a connection there."

He was right – of course he was right. Sam _had_ been thinking it too. He hadn't planned on saying it, not yet. "Dean," he began, but his brother cut him off.

"I don't know how the demon was involved; I don't know how the whole thing went down exactly. But Dad's dead because of me, and that much I do know."

He was wrong – of course he was wrong. Even if their father had made a deal, even if Dean was only alive because their father was dead, that didn't make it Dean's fault. John was not dead because of Dean. Their father was dead, and only their father was to blame. Their father, and the demon.

"We don't know that," Sam said gently. "Not for sure."

"Sam," Dean rasped out, his voice hard and tight and full of something that made Sam extremely uncomfortable. Sam stared, and Dean took a pause. "You," he finally said. "Dad. You were the most important people in my life. And now…"

He trailed off and swallowed. Sam squirmed on the hood of the car. He could see the tears forming in Dean's eyes, and he really didn't want to. Dean didn't cry – not when Sam could see him.

"I never should have come back, Sam," Dean said. "It wasn't natural, and now look what's come of it. I was dead, and I should have stayed dead."

He didn't want to hear that. Back at the hospital, he remembered being desperate to bring back Dean – he remembered blaming his father for not trying hard enough. All along, this was what his father had been planning. Dean wasn't responsible, not really. If anyone was at fault, it was Sam.

But he didn't have the courage to tell Dean that.

"You wanted to know how I was feeling," Dean said, his voice stronger now, edged with something hard and unpleasant that made Sam squirm again. "Well, that's it. So tell me."

Sam looked up at him, and Dean stared right back at him. There they were again – the tears that Sam didn't know how to handle, swimming around in his brother's eyes.

"What could you possibly say to make that all right?" Dean demanded.

He'd had arguments – still did, as a matter of fact. And they all seemed perfectly valid. But in the face of Dean's admission, they also seemed completely inadequate, and Sam was left speechless, staring at the dirt under his sneakers.

Sam said nothing at all, and Dean looked away from him again. There was nothing to say, not really. Dean had known that all along, and now Sam was starting to see it too.

They sat in silence on the hood of the car, staring at the road. There was no way to make this all right. There was no way to bring Dad back, and there was no way to make Dean feel less responsible.

Things were not going to be ok.


	7. Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to SPN Mum, Spelllesswonder29, Aelthar101, ColtFan165, angeleyenc, Amber, and MYP for the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: Can't Fight this Feeling Anymore<p>

Sam's hand was definitely broken.

It would have made him laugh, recalling how certain Lynn had been when she'd told him that his hand was fine, except for the part where his hand was broken, and it hurt like hell.

He was sporting a brand new, beige colored cast on the supposedly not broken hand. The limb ached dully under the itchy plaster, and now a throbbing had begun in his temples as well. Sam longed for one of the aspirins secreted in his duffel bag – which was, of course, tucked away in the trunk of the Impala.

They were on the road, again. Dean was at the wheel, as always. Sam rubbed his forehead and slumped in the seat, squeezing his overly sensitive eyes shut against the too bright sunlight streaming in through the windshield.

"Where are we going again?" he asked irritably, using his uninjured hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Some podunk town in Colorado," Dean reminded him, eyes on the road. "Run of the mill haunting, looks like."

Sam nodded, and regretted it. The sudden, jerking movement caused the pain in his head to intensify tenfold. "Right," he practically hissed.

He couldn't see the look his brother gave him, but he felt Dean's eyes all the same. "Dude, you all right?"

"Fine," Sam spat, rubbing his temples again.

"Sure. You look it."

"Leave me alone, Dean."

It was an award-winning migraine – the kind that left you half blind and trying to pass out. Sam refused to open his eyes and tried to go to sleep. "I love this song," he heard Dean say beside him.

Sam chanced opening one eye, and caught Dean reaching for the volume dial on the radio. "No!" he snapped, smacking Dean's hand away.

Dean stared at him, bug-eyed, completely neglecting the road.

"Uh…" Sam backtracked, closing his eyes again. "You think we can pull over?"

"Sure," Dean said slowly. "In fact, that's a great idea. We need gas."

Sam doubted they needed gas, but he wasn't going to argue. He could feel the car slowing down, and about ten minutes later the Impala came to a stop. Sam slowly opened his eyes again and found them parked beside the pump at an ancient, rundown gas station. The rusted overhand above the pumps gave them some shade, and Sam was able to blink around at his surroundings – the tiny white building, the cracked pavement, and the empty roads that intersected right by the edge of the parking lot. Jayne's old gray truck coasted up to the pump on the other side of the cement divide where Dean had parked the Impala. Sam winced at the sounds of doors slamming, and shut his eyes again, leaning his forehead against the slightly open window.

"What's going on?" he heard Jayne grunt at Dean. "I could swear we _just_ stopped for gas."

"Sam's sick, I think," Dean returned in a low voice. "I don't know – he asked to pull over."

There was a brief moment of silence, followed by mumbling noises that Sam could not be bothered to try and decipher. He heard the clanking and creaking of the old gas pumps as Dean and Jayne filled up their vehicles.

The back door swung open on the Impala, and Sam nearly leapt out of his skin. "Sam?" he heard Lynn ask just behind his head, her voice quiet and cautious. "You ok?"

He was tempted to snort at her, because the last time she'd played doctor, she hadn't diagnosed him so well. "Fine," he grit out from behind clenched teeth.

"You want an aspirin?"

Finally, a plan he could get behind. "Um, yeah," he said softly, forcing himself to open his eyes again. He turned in his seat and met her eyes over his shoulder, even though his vision was so blurry, he could barely see her face. "Thanks."

Lynn fished out a bottle of painkillers and pressed them into his hand. Sam took them gratefully and then pushed open his car door. "I'll be in the bathroom," he told her. Then he stumbled over the cement barrier and snuck past Dean and Jayne, who were standing on the other side of the gas pump and talking in hushed voices. They didn't seem to notice him, so Sam kept going, squinting against the sunlight, and finally made it to the bathroom doors on the side of the tiny white building. He practically fell into the door with the male stick figure painted on it and gratefully stepped inside the dark room.

The lack of light was a lot easier on his head, but the stink of the restroom did his suddenly queasy stomach no favors. Sam tried to ignore the foul smell and the odd discolorations on the floor, walls and sink. He ducked into an old, creaky stall, tried and failed to close the door, and then hit the suspiciously brown floor on his knees beside the rusty, stained toilet bowl.

His stomach lurched, and he gagged. Then he proceeded to empty his stomach of everything he'd consumed over the past twenty-four hours – hell, probably everything he'd eaten for the past week. After several long minutes of vomiting, his stomach finally stopped rolling, and Sam managed to clamber back on his feet. The movement went straight to his still pounding head, and Sam stumbled into the side of the stall, clutching the broken door for support. The bottle of aspirin rattled in his coat pocket, and Sam fumbled his way towards the sink, where he ran the water, watching it spiral down the drain of the green-stained basin and washed his hands. Then he popped a couple aspirins and splashed some water into his dry, bitter-tasting mouth.

His vision went blurry again, and then he saw a flicker of something else. Suddenly, the dirty bathroom mirror was gone, and he was standing in the sun, on a bustling sidewalk, watching a heavyset, dark-skinned, gray-haired man strolling along the street with a smile on his face. The man's cell rang, and he immediately answered it.

Whatever the person on the other end said, it couldn't have been good news. Instantly, the smile was gone. "All right," the man said slowly.

Then the man was gone, and Sam was left blinking at his own reflection again. Groaning, he gripped the sides of the sink and squeezed his eyes shut again; leaning over the basin as splitting pain tore through his skull. The sound of the running faucet rang in his ears – and then suddenly, the water was replaced by the sound of car horns and engines as vehicle after vehicle tore up a busy city street.

Sam could see the man again – graying and portly and deadly serious as he talked on his cell phone. He stood directly under a tall, gray clock tower, and he watched a large white bus with a blue insignia reading 'Blue Ridge' on the side drive on past. Then he hung up the phone, and immediately his smile returned. He walked across the street, and inside a small hardware store. The man sauntered to the back of the store, where the sporting equipment was, and right up to the man operating the gun counter. "Afternoon, Dennis," he greeted the fair, chubby, weathered looking sales clerk.

"Hey, Doc," Dennis replied, putting aside his magazine.

"I'd like to look at a gun."

Dennis laughed. "Yeah, right, Doc."

Doc just stared Dennis down until the man sobered up and blinked incredulously. "Seriously?"

Doc nodded. Dennis hurried behind the counter to comply with his possible new customer's request.

"Um…" Doc murmured, his eyes roving over the rack of firearms displayed on the wall behind the counter. He pointed at the gun on the left, a long brown and tan shotgun. "That one."

Dennis still looked bemused, but he unlocked the security device strung around the rack and took down the gun in question. "Ok…" he said. "That's a turkey hunter. Twelve-gauge. Pump action."

He experimentally cocked the gun and smirked at Doc. "Don't leave enough turkey behind, if you ask me."

Dennis handed the twelve-gauge over to Doc, who frowned down at it, turning the weapon over in his hands. "What, uh… what sort of shells does it use?" he asked.

The store clerk reached under the counter and pulled up a box of the requested ammunition. He was still studying the doctor, who was still studying the gun, neither one of them looking entirely certain about what they were seeing. "I'm taking the boys up to the cabin this weekend," Dennis said as the doctor pulled two shells out of the small yellow container. "If you're uh… I mean, if you're thinking you'd like to take up the sport."

Doc laughed at that. "Thanks, but no. You know guns make me nervous! Always have. So… this one goes in here…"

The doctor slid the shell into the chamber and, for someone whom guns made nervous, expertly loaded the shotgun.

"Whoa, Doc, no!" Dennis protested. "You can't load a weapon on the premises! It's illegal!"

"It's ok, Dennis."

"No, no…"

"It's _ok_, Dennis." Doc loaded the second shell, and then aimed the shotgun directly at his friend. "It's all going to be ok."

"Doc…!"

_Bang!_

Doc drew the trigger, and fired the gun. The blast caught Dennis in the chest, tearing through his torso, and the now blood-splattered man flew backwards into the doorway behind the counter, shattering the glass window on the top half of the door.

The surrounding customers screamed as Dennis slumped to the floor. "No, no!" Doc reassured the panicking patrons, even as he pulled back the hammer a second time. "No, it's ok! It's all going to be ok."

Doc pressed the barrel under his chin and fired.

_Bang!_

The doctor slumped to the floor, and bright red blood splattered on the shiny white display sink fastened above him, on the wall.

Sam blinked, and the bloody sink was gone. Instead, he was staring at the dirty, green-stained sink in the gas station bathroom, clutching the sides as he struggled to stay upright. He blinked, trying to refocus his vision on his surroundings – the dark, dirty, rundown bathroom seemed even darker and dingier compared to the shiny, clean hardware store from his vision.

Gasping in pain, Sam removed one hand from the side of the sink and cupped it under the icy flow of water. He splashed the cold water on his face, trying to focus and stay awake. The pain was still there, and his stomach was turning again. He choked back a gag, swallowing down another round of vomiting, and splashed some more water on his face.

The bathroom door creaked open, and a ray of sunlight beamed into the dark room. Sam winced at the sudden, painful brightness. "Sam!" Dean barked from the doorway. "Zip it up! Come on, let's go…"

Sam could barely acknowledge his brother's presence, still gasping for breath as he clutched the sink. Dean trailed off, frowning at him. "What?" he asked.

He didn't answer right away. All he could do for a moment was stand still and stare at the sink. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself upright. "I… I had… a vision," he panted.

Dean blinked. "A… what, like a… a _vision_?"

Sam frowned at him, immediately irritated. "Yeah, Dean. A vision."

He marched for the door, and stumbled before he got there. Dean rushed to his side, grabbing him by the arm and holding him up. "Whoa," he said. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," Sam snapped, jerking his arm free.

"I don't know Sam, maybe you should sit down or something…"

"I'm _fine_," he insisted. Dean didn't look like he believed him for a moment, but Sam didn't care. He ignored his brother's frown and limped out of the bathroom.

The sun burned his eyes and Sam instantly shielded them with his hand. He pressed on across the pavement, towards the shelter of the gas-pump overhang. Lynn darted out to meet him, holding a bottle in her hand. "Hey!" she called. "Are you ok?"

She pressed the cold soda into his hand and he accepted the offering without thinking about it. Lynn stopped and stood beside him, squinting up at him through the sunlight with obvious concern. "Sam?" she asked softly when he didn't say anything.

"I'm fine," he told her, forcing brightness into his voice. She didn't buy it for a second – he could tell by the look on her face. "Thanks. Um… the thing is, I think I had a… a…"

"A vision?" Jayne supplied dryly.

He hadn't seen her approach. Sam swung his head in the direction of his voice, finding Jayne standing off to the side with her arms folded across her chest, the sun bouncing off her blonde hair. She had a sour expression on her face, and one of her eyebrows was raised skeptically.

"Yeah," he frowned. "How did you know?"

"You mean besides your crippling migraine and the panicked expression on your face?" she retorted. "Don't know; guess I'm psychic too."

Dean arrived on the scene just then, his keys jangling as he swung them loosely from his fingertips. He looked worried still, and kind of irritated. "Did you tell them?" he asked.

Sam nodded. Then he gently pushed past Lynn and made his way towards the Impala. He couldn't take much more of the heat and the sun and the mere act of standing upright. It was just a migraine – just a vision – but it felt like he was dying.

The other three followed him back to the car. Sam's door was still wide open, and he collapsed into the seat, unscrewing the cap on the drink Lynn had given him. Dean, Lynn and Jayne crowded around him, all staring at him in concern and confusion. Dean perched his elbow on the roof of the car, frowning into the car at him, and Lynn hung on the open door, leaning towards Sam with worried eyes. Jayne didn't get that close – she leaned back against the gas pump, her arms still folded over her chest.

"A vision," Lynn said.

"Yeah," Sam snapped. "A vision."

"What did you see?" Dean demanded.

Sam didn't answer right away. He'd been rubbing his aching head, but now he dropped his hand and turned towards the backseat. "Hang on," he whispered half to himself. He reached around the back of his seat and scrabbled for the bag holding his laptop.

"Sam?" Dean asked.

He ignored his brother, pulling out a blue pen and an old pad of motel stationary. Frowning in concentration, he laid the pad against the dashboard and started drawing.

"Sam," Dean barked, more insistent this time.

A triangle began to take form on the pad, with a large opaque rectangle underneath it. _Blue Ridge_, Sam wrote in the rectangle.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean exploded, beyond annoyed at this point.

"I saw this logo on a bus," Sam explained, frowning at the pad in his hand. "If we can find out where this bus line runs…"

"So you saw a bus," Dean interrupted.

Sam frowned at Dean instead of the stationary. "Yeah."

"That's it?" Dean snapped. "You saw a bus?"

Sam blinked up at him. "Of course not."

"Then what the hell did you see?"

He was putting it off, he realized then. He didn't want to say it. But he had to, if he expected any of them to go along with him on this latest, vision-induced, wild goose chase. Sam took a deep breath, laid the pad of paper down in his lap, and began to recite the contents of his vision for the benefit of his suffocating audience – the man on the cobblestoned sidewalk, the phone call, the hardware store, the gunshots – one for Dennis, and one for Doc.

When he finished repeating what he'd seen, the other three hunters didn't comment right away. Mostly, they stood around the gas pump and stared at him. Lynn worried her lower lip with her teeth, Dean looked pissed as usual, and Jayne gave him a blank expression.

Jayne was also the first to speak or act. "All right then," she said after a few moments of silence. "Sounds like we better get on the road."

"First we have to figure out where this is going to happen," Sam pointed out.

"Obviously," Jayne replied dryly. "So power up your computer and find out where that bus line operates."

Sam hesitated. He opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it almost immediately. Deep in his gut, he knew nobody was going to like what he wanted to suggest.

"Sam?" Lynn asked quietly, watching him with a deep, scrutinizing frown on her face. "What is it?"

He paused a moment, avoiding everyone's eyes by keeping his own fixed on the pavement beneath his feet. "I was just thinking," he murmured hesitatingly. "You know who could get us where we need to be in no time?"

Jayne raised an eyebrow at him, shifting her weight from one long leg to the other. "Who?" she asked bluntly.

A sheepish half smile tugged at the corners of Sam's mouth, and he offered the other three hunters a wincing, apologetic look. "Ash," he said.

More silent gawking ensued after that, but unfortunately for Sam, it didn't last very long. "_Ash?_" Dean repeated incredulously.

"Well… yeah," Sam retorted, starting to get defensive about the whole thing.

"You want to go to the Roadhouse," Dean practically spat. "Again?"

"What's wrong with the Roadhouse?"

"What's wrong with the…" Dean trailed off, shaking his head disbelievingly and throwing his hands out in either anger or helplessness… or maybe both. "It's more than half a day's drive from here _and_ it's in the opposite freaking direction!"

"The opposite direction of _what_, Dean?" Sam challenged him.

Dean gawked at him. "The… the opposite direction from… from the direction we've been driving!"

"Look, what I saw _is_ going to happen, Dean!" Sam exploded. "And that means we have to at least _try _to stop it! Whatever ghost hunt we were thinking about checking out is officially backburner-ed until we figure out this vision! So I say we head out to the Roadhouse and get Ash's help."

There was a brief silence. Then Lynn cleared her throat and pulled her weight off the open car door. "All right," she announced. "Roadhouse it is. Let's get going."

Sam blinked, surprised, and then smiled in spite of himself. Dean and Jayne both gaped at Lynn in shock and annoyance.

"Seriously?"Dean asked.

Lynn shrugged, giving him a look that dared him to argue with her. Dean didn't take the dare.

Jayne didn't look happy either, but she didn't yell or argue. She pushed herself off the gas pump. "Fine. Let's get going, already," she grumbled.

Then she stepped around the corner of the pump, disappearing from view. Sam heard the truck door slam, and then the engine turn over. Lynn offered him an encouraging smile, and then headed off for the truck too.

Dean clambered back into the driver's seat, looking every bit as pissed as he had before. Sam didn't bother asking him to repeat his annoyed, unintelligible muttering. He just let Dean be pissed, driving too fast down the road, and then erratically merging onto the highway.

He didn't need Dean to be happy to know he was right about this.

* * *

><p>Lynn waited a full five minutes after getting back on the highway before turning towards her sister and announcing, "I'm calling Steve."<p>

Jayne's fingers visibly tightened on the steering wheel, and then she leveled her sister with an incredulous, seriously annoyed glower. "_What?_"

Lynn ignored her reaction and pulled out her cell phone, scrolling down to her brother's name in her address book. "Sam had a vision," she reasoned. "Sam's visions are always about the demon, or some other twenty-something just like him. Which means this is family business, and as our family, Steve has a right to be in on this. I'm telling him to meet us at the Roadhouse."

Her sister didn't like that idea. Lynn could tell by the way she sucked her cheek into her mouth and glowered at the road. "Yeah, the Roadhouse," Jayne grumbled. "Great place for us to be right about now, isn't it?"

Lynn frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

"It's a gathering place for _hunters_," Jayne pointed out. "You and Sam seem to think Ash has all the answers, or whatever, but Ash is in the middle of a place full of people who wouldn't like the idea of Sam having visions about demons, or Steve mentally lighting shit on fire."

Well, she had a point there. Lynn's fingers hesitated over the call button on her cell. Personally, she didn't think Ash or Ellen or Jo would want to hurt Sam _or_ Steve. They seemed more liberal-minded, more willing to rationally evaluate a situation before charging in, guns blazing. But the same probably couldn't be said about Ellen's patrons.

"Then I guess we just won't _tell_ anybody about Sam and Steve," Lynn said after a beat.

Jayne grumbled something, not looking any happier about the situation. Lynn rolled her eyes and decided she didn't care. Steve deserved to be in the know.

"You know, I don't get it," she spoke up. "You and Dean really seem to hate that place."

"Not true."

"Hey, I understand how you roll – we don't make friends, blah, blah, blah. Except, we _did_ make friends, and their names were Sam and Dean Winchester. And I think that turned out all right, didn't it? So what's wrong with Ash and the Harvelles?"

Jayne sighed harshly and shook her head. "As far as I can tell? Nothing."

"So what's your deal?"

"Exactly that – we know _nothing_ about them."

Lynn frowned down at her phone and sighed. "Ok, I hear you there. I'm not saying we fess up all our dark, dirty secrets to them. We need time to establish trust or whatever, but… I just don't think they're so bad. They don't give me that creepy Gordon Walker vibe, you know? And we can always use more friends, and I think they could be great ones."

Jayne didn't offer an answer, but Lynn saw her grip on the steering wheel relax ever so slightly. She smirked a little, and then returned to her phone.

She was calling Steve, and they were meeting up at the Roadhouse, whether Jayne liked it or not.

* * *

><p>It was dark out now, and the closer they got to the Roadhouse, the closer the scrub-brush got to the sides of the deserted highway. The trees and the dark night sky were pressing in on the Impala from all sides, and it felt like an omen of impending doom, rather than a normal drive down a dark, rural road. The feeling did not make Dean any happier about his current situation, nor did the obnoxious radio DJ coming through his stereo system, talking about playing classic rock instead of actually playing it.<p>

Sam hung up his cell phone and frowned down at some papers in his lap. "Lynn called Steve," he announced. "He's meeting us there."

"At the Roadhouse?" Dean exploded.

Sam turned the frown on him instead. "Yeah…"

"Great, what is this? A reunion? Hope Ellen's got extra chairs."

"I had a vision, Dean. You know this could be connected to the demon. It makes sense that they called him."

"Yeah, well, Steve isn't exactly my problem with the plan," Dean grumbled. Sam frowned at him and opened his mouth to speak again, but Dean cut him off. "I don't know, man. Why don't we just chill out? Think about this?"

Sam snapped off the radio, and Dean resisted the urge to kill him, right then and there. "What's there to think about?" he demanded.

"I just don't know if going to the Roadhouse is the smartest idea."

"Dean, it's another premonition. I know it. This is _going_ to happen, and Ash can help us figure out where."

"Yeah, man, but…"

"Plus it could have some connection to the demon! My visions always do!"

"That's exactly my point!" Dean exclaimed, and it baffled him to no end that he even had to explain this to his brother. Sam needed a better sense of self-preservation. "There's going to be hunters there. I don't know if waltzing in and announcing that you're some kind of supernatural freak with a demonic connection is the best thing, ok?"

His outburst wasn't entirely thought through, and Dean realized his mistake almost immediately when Sam's indignant expression faded away to something that looked more hurt than anything else. "So I'm a freak, now?" he asked.

Dean forced himself to smirk and smack his brother on the knee. "You've always been a freak."

Sam did not look comforted, and Dean did not feel one jot better about any single part of this plan. Still, they both lapsed into silence for the remainder of the drive, arriving at the roadhouse during the late night, early morning rush.

The sign was lit up and blinking at them and Dean could hear old classic rock tunes blaring on the jukebox inside. Their gravel lot was packed with aging, rusty old muscle cars and pickup trucks. Down at the end of the lot, in the corner farthest from the tavern, was Stephen Juarez's bright orange 1970 Roadrunner Superbird.

Dean cringed. "Guess Steve's here," he announced, swinging the Impala into one of the only available spaces left, also some distance from the building. "Fantastic."

Sam just rolled his eyes. The moment Dean stopped the car, Sam jumped out and made a beeline for the Roadhouse's front doors.

Dean was slower about climbing out of the Impala and making his way across the dusty gravel lot. Jayne wheeled her truck off the gravel and parked it in the grass, having given up on finding an actual space. Dean waited on the two of them to climb down from the cab and join him by his car.

"Sam, would you slow down?" Lynn called after the younger Winchester, who was several paces ahead of them. Dean rolled his eyes when Sam glanced at them over his shoulder and reluctantly came to a stop by the bumper of a busted Ford truck, practically hopping up and down where he stood.

"Jesus," Lynn hissed, shaking her head. "He's like an overanxious puppy."

Dean allowed himself a smirk, following behind Lynn as she marched towards Sam. He fell into step beside Jayne out of habit and gave her a small nod.

She nodded back. "For the record," she drawled quietly, glancing at Lynn. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Dean smirked again. "Then I guess we're on the same page."

She nodded again, and they fell silent. Things between them were weird now, to say the least. It wasn't the sex – things had been fine when they just had to contend with the sex. It was the stuff that came after the sex that proved to be the problem – the emotional, confessional, share-circle stuff that had left them both feeling more vulnerable than they were comfortable with. And so, Dean concluded with a vague sense of annoyance directed at both himself and Jayne, they had fallen into their usual pattern of pretending nothing had ever happened.

The moment the three of them reached Sam, he took off like a rocket once again, and they practically had to jog to keep up with him. He was the first to burst into the dark, smoky roadhouse, and he was the first to spot Jo standing beside the deer-hunting arcade game in the corner. She was not alone. Playing on the arcade game beside her was a fairly short, wiry young man, with tanned skin, a shaven head, a black goatee, and a pair of diamonds in his ears.

"There's Steve," Lynn announced, gesturing at the pair of them. Jayne rolled her eyes, and Dean raised his eyebrow. Sam was already walking towards the two of them, and the other three fell in line just behind him. As they drew nearer, Dean could hear Steve and Jo talking.

"I feel kind of bad, taking your money like this," Steve was saying, holding the rifle mounted onto the game and shooting at the video generated deer. He was taking them out, one at a time, kicking the game's ass. "I mean… I've kind of had a lot of practice at this."

Dean rolled his eyes at the kid's back. Jo was leaning on the side of the machine, a rag tossed over her shoulder, and raising her eyebrow at Steve. "Uh-huh," she replied, sounding unimpressed.

Steve shot the final deer, and an impressively high score lit up on the screen. "Your turn," Steve smirked at her, stepping aside.

Jo didn't dignify the smirk with an answer, or even a look. She simply stepped up to the gun, grabbed hold of it, and started smoking every last deer that popped up on the videogame screen. Steve's mouth fell open as he watched her blow his score out of the water, and Dean couldn't help snorting in amusement.

The game ended, and the screen announced Jo as the winner. She smirked brightly at Steve, who was still staring at her with his mouth hanging open, and then she held out her hand.

Steve rolled his eyes and plopped a stack of twenties into her waiting palm. "You just let me walk right into that," he accused her.

"Life's a bitch," she retorted in a voice dripping with sarcasm, still wearing her bright, mocking smirk. Then she turned around to observe the four hunters watching their exchange, and the mockery faded into a sincere smile. "Just couldn't stay away, huh?" she greeted them.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, looks like," he replied. "How you doing, Jo?"

"Where's Ash?" Sam demanded.

"In his back room," Jo replied, looking taken aback and a little annoyed.

"Great," Sam replied, and then he vanished in the direction of Ash's room.

"And I'm fine!" Jo snarked after him.

"Sorry, he's… we're kind of on a bit a timetable," Dean tried to explain away his brother's behavior. Jo just raised her eyebrow at him.

"Also sorry about _my_ brother," Lynn spoke up. "He's kind of a douche."

Steve stepped away from the deer hunting game. Jo delivered another smirk in his direction. "So you're Lynn and Jayne's brother?" she asked. "Huh. Would have thought you'd be a better shot."

Dean bit back a chuckle. Steve sneered at her, and then looked over at Lynn. "Don't know why you're apologizing to _her_," he said. "She's the one with all my money."

"Well, glad you two finally met," Jayne drawled sarcastically. "Nice to see you, Jo."

Then she grabbed her brother by the arm and steered him in the direction of Ash's room. Lynn rolled her eyes, said a hasty see-ya to Jo, and then followed after them. Dean was left alone in Jo's company, and the pretty, petite blonde lifted her eyebrows almost expectantly at him.

Dean managed not to look into her big brown doe eyes, and gave her a short nod before brushing past her after the other four hunters. He could feel Jo watching him, but he tried to shove it off, tried to ignore it…

He didn't want to be at the Roadhouse at all right now. End of story.

Dean found Sam standing in the long, bare white hallway behind the front of the tavern, knocking on a heavy wooden door. The music from the bar could still be heard, echoing down the corridor, and the sound of a television was coming from Ash's room. Lynn and Jayne dragged Steve down to where Sam stood, and when Dean joined them at the door, he found a large wooden plaque tacked to it reading "Dr. Badass Is:" Hanging from a nail just beneath it was a smaller sign that said, "In."

"Ash!" Sam called, pounding on the door again. "Hey, Ash?"

Nobody answered. Sam sent Dean a pained, irritated expression. Dean walked right up to the door and knocked. "Hey, Dr. Badass!" he hollered.

Dean heard the slide of a lock and gave his brother a smirk. Sam rolled his eyes. Then the door swung open, and Ash appeared in the small crack of the doorway.

He was completely naked.

Horrified, Dean immediately looked away. Sam likewise averted his eyes. Lynn gasped, her hand going over her face, and Jayne slowly shut her eyes, wearing a pained expression very similar to the one Sam had been wearing only moments ago. "Sam," Ash greeted them. "Dean. Sam and Dean. Jayne and Lynn. New guy I haven't met yet." He sniffed loudly, and offered Steve a smirk that did nothing to better the situation. "Howdy."

Steve crinkled his nose, his eyes focused on the ceiling. Then the younger, shorter man dared an incredulous glance at Jayne. "Where the hell are we right now?" he demanded.

"My worst nightmare," Jayne returned, straight-faced.

"Jayne," Ash nodded at her again. His eyes roved her up and down, assessing her curves, and then he exhaled harshly. "You look _good_."

"Ash," she replied, offering him a nod of her own. "You look naked."

He winked. "Like what you see?"

"Ok," Dean cut in. He opted for a smirk in Ash's direction, but it felt tight on his face, and he knew he looked threatening. So much for pretending nothing had ever happened. "That's enough of that."

Sam forced himself to look at Ash, wearing an expression that suggested he was in physical pain. "Ash," he said "We need your help."

"Well, hell then," Ash replied brightly. "I guess I need my pants."

Then he ducked back inside the room and shut the door. "Dude, for the record?" Steve hollered after him. "You _always_ need your pants!"

Jayne rolled her eyes and grabbed Steve's arm again, yanking him back towards the bar. "Shut up," she commanded.

"Was that weirdo hitting on you?"

"Shut up means stop talking."

Dean shook his head, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he watched Jayne haul her brother around the corner, the two of them still arguing between themselves. Lynn rolled her eyes and took off after them. Sam was watching them with his eyebrows raised, and the two of them fell into step beside one another, headed back for the bar.

"Wow," Sam commented.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "This is going to be interesting."

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for Ash to throw on some clothes and meet the rest of them out in the bar. Jayne raised her eyebrow at the pale, skinny man as he slid into a chair across the table from her and set up his laptop. Sam sat on her left, on the edge of his seat, watching Ash impatiently, and Dean leaned on the wall behind Ash's newly occupied chair, nursing a beer.<p>

Jayne took a gulp from her own dark glass beer bottle and glanced at Lynn. Lynn was on her right, and Steve was squeezed in beside her. Both of them were drinking. Lynn looked anxious; Steve looked bored. Jo, on the other hand, looked overly eager to know what was going on at their table. Jayne could see her lurking around by the bar, pretending to wipe things up and straining her ears to catch pieces of their conversation. She glared at the other blonde, and Jo had the nerve to send her back a bright, shit-eating smile.

She couldn't decide if she hated the girl, or would have really liked her under different circumstances. As it stood, however, Jayne wished she would just disappear.

Ash's fingers were flying over the keyboard, his eyes darting between the logo from Sam's vision to the laptop screen.

"Anything?" Sam demanded after a moment.

"Hold your horses, compadre," Ash replied smoothly, not even looking in Sam's direction. "I just fired her up. Give me a moment."

Sam looked further vexed by the reply, and grabbed his beer with his good hand, tipping the contents of the bottle down his throat. Jayne rolled her eyes and drank again. She was drinking too fast, and she was already having thoughts about another one.

This might just be one of those nights.

"Question," Steve spoke up, leaning his chair back and balancing on the two rear legs. "Why do we need Senor No-Pants over here to look up this logo or whatever? It's called the Google search engine. Are we all computer illiterate now?"

"Compared to Ash?" Lynn retorted, snorting. "Yeah, we are."

"Just can it, will you?" Dean barked at the two of them.

Steve narrowed his eyes in Dean's direction and opened his mouth to say something smart. Jayne kicked him under the table.

"Hey!" he protested.

"Don't do it," she told him.

Her brother fell silent, but kept on fuming. Jayne rolled her eyes again, and concentrated on her beer.

"Well, I got a match," Ash spoke up suddenly. Five sets of eyes immediately zeroed in on the scruffy, redneck computer genius. "It's the logo for the Blue Ridge Bus Lines… in Guthrie, Oklahoma."

"All right," Sam murmured, sitting up a little straighter. "Do me a favor. Check Guthrie for any demonic signs, or omens, or anything like that."

Ash frowned slightly, his voice taking on a calculatingly mild, inquisitive tone. "You think the demon's there?"

Jayne narrowed her eyes at him. Sam paused, and then delivered a non-informative, "Yeah. Maybe."

Ash's eyes might have been fixed on his computer screen, but he wasn't fooling her. He wanted to know _exactly_ why the five of them were at the Roadhouse, asking for his help. "Why would you think that?" he asked.

"Just check it, all right?" Dean snapped.

Ash did as he was told, and the computer let out a few beeping noises. "No sir," he announced. "Nothing. No demon."

Sam hesitated, and Jayne's fingers tightened on her now mostly empty beer bottle. Dean shot his little brother a no-nonsense, don't-you-dare-do-it type of look. Sam did it anyway.

"Ok, check something else for me," he said. "Search Guthrie for a house fire. It would be 1983 – the fire's origin would be a baby's nursery, night of the kid's six month birthday."

Ash stared at him for a moment, his face screwed up incredulously. "Ok, that is just weird, man. Why the hell would I be looking for that?"

There was a long pause. Jayne shook her head slightly, staring down the neck of her beer bottle. Dean looked pissed, but then he always looked pissed lately.

Sam grabbed the lone unopened beer on the table and slammed it down in front of Ash. "Because there's a PBR in it for you."

"Give me fifteen minutes."

Steve raised his eyebrows and scoffed. "Seriously? That's like a three-dollar beer."

"Shut up," Jayne snapped at him.

Ash ignored her brother's commentary and focused on completing Sam's request. It was getting a little too silent at the table, and eventually Dean rolled his eyes, shoved himself off the wall, and muttered something that sounded a lot like, "Fuck this," before sauntering off to the bar and taking a seat by himself at the counter. Jayne watched him storm off, and then rolled her eyes too, gulping down her beer.

Her brother's eyes strayed in the direction of Jo's ass, made prominent due to Jo bending over behind the bar, right in front of Dean. Jayne wasn't the least bit surprised when Steve got to his feet and headed for the bar, wearing the sort of smirk no sister wanted to witness on her brother's face.

She caught Lynn's eye, feeling her face twist into a pained expression. "Ew," Lynn agreed.

"What?" Ash asked throatily, not looking up from the laptop.

"Nothing," Jayne informed him.

It was stupid to be jealous of Jo, because it didn't really matter if she thought Dean was hot – it didn't even matter if Dean thought she was hot back. Jayne was the one who was sleeping with him.

Except she wasn't, not really. One time in his car almost a week ago did not really count as 'sleeping with him.' They hadn't had a repeat performance; they hadn't spoken about it. Hell, they barely spoke at all lately, and Jayne would bet that had a good deal to do with the discussion they'd had back in Kansas. She shouldn't have brought up John; she shouldn't have picked at the scab.

It was too late now, though. She'd made her bed and now she had to lie in it. Jayne thought she ought to regret it, but she found she didn't. Quite frankly, she was less annoyed at herself and more convinced that Dean was being a big baby.

She kind of wanted to get up and tell him so.

"You sure none of you want to give me the skinny on why I'm looking up this weird shit?" Ash drawled, glancing up at the three of them very briefly, and then redirecting his frown to the computer screen.

Sam took a deep breath, hesitating. Lynn glanced nervously down at her lap, lacing her fingers together around her beer bottle.

"Positive," Jayne drawled back, putting her bottle down on the table with a loud _clunk!_

Ash chuckled, and shook his head. "Right, of course not."

He looked moderately displeased with them, but Jayne honestly didn't give a shit. Sam and Lynn looked like they might, though. Their eyes were directed at the tabletop, and both of them were looking guilty and nervous. Jayne rolled her eyes again.

Where was their good judgment, exactly? She knew they weren't this dumb. They didn't know Ash from Adam – although she was pretty sure Adam didn't sport a mullet, or button-down shirts with ripped-off sleeves. Besides, it wasn't just Ash they had to worry about, or even the Harvelles. There were other hunters there, spread out around the bar, and if they overheard the details of Sam's visions, or his connection to the demon – or _Steve's_ connection to the demon…

"Be right back," Jayne grunted rather suddenly at the other three, and then she walked away from the table, headed in the direction of the bar. She could feel their eyes on her back, but she didn't pay them any attention – she couldn't make herself care.

Dean was still sitting on a barstool, nursing his drink, and Steve had apparently given up on Jo. She had moved out from behind the counter now, and was pulling empty glasses from a vacated table in the corner. Steve, however, was walking back towards Ash's table, and Jayne met him halfway.

"Get rejected?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

Steve shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. "Win some, lose some. Guess I can't compete with Dean Winchester. Sucks to be the short guy."

Jayne snorted, and shook her head. "Oh, well," she replied. "We just met these people anyway. Last thing I need is you messing with Jo, and getting Ellen to toss us all out of here on our asses."

Steve nodded, screwing his face up in mock thought. "Yeah, she scares me a little," he admitted. Then he smirked, glanced at Jayne's empty bottle, and then frowned at the table she'd just left. "What's the deal?" he asked.

She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"You look pissed tonight. Not just about Sam's visions and shit, or even just pissed at me. You look like… I don't know."

"I'm fine," Jayne retorted through gritted teeth. She shoved her empty beer bottle against Steve's chest and he took it from her automatically. "Here," she grunted.

"What are you giving this to me for?"

She didn't bother to answer him, turning instead to walk away. Steve muttered something under his breath, but she didn't pay him any attention. She simply sauntered over to the bar and slid onto the vacant stool next to Dean's. He looked up from his beer glass and turned towards her, raising his eyebrow.

"Ash is still looking," she replied to his unanswered question.

Dean snorted and looked down into his beer again. "He still asking questions too?"

Jayne nodded. "Yep."

Dean shook his head. "Told Sam this was a bad idea."

"He can keep asking all he wants," Jayne countered. "It's not like we're going to tell him anything."

"Yeah, but it's out there now," Dean retorted. "They're going to get suspicious. You really want Ash or Ellen or one of the hunters in here finding out about…"

He trailed off and glanced around the bar. Jayne followed suit. The place had gone from crowded and lively to deserted and quiet in a matter of minutes. Dean must have decided they were safe and no one could overhear them – although Jayne disagreed, due to the way Jo was still lurking in that corner by the jukebox, sending them sidelong glances. Even Ellen, who was a considerable distance away and seemingly preoccupied with wiping down glasses, had angled herself towards them, watching without actually looking at them. "About Steve?" he finished in a low voice, leaning in so close that his breath tickled her ear. "About Sam?"

"Of course not," she retorted, gritting her teeth and leaning in just as close to him. Their heads were separated by mere inches of air, and she fought down the somersaults her stomach was attempting to perform. "But what can they do as long as we say nothing?"

Dean did not look appeased by this argument. His hand tightened visibly on his beer, and he glanced back at Ash. Sam, Lynn and Steve were still sitting around the table with the computer hacker, watching him as his fingers flew across the keys. "What if _he_ finds something?" Dean asked. "He finds everything else."

Jayne found herself without an argument. She opened her mouth, thought up nothing to say, and closed it again. Dean stared at her, and she stared unseeingly at a spot on his chest, trying not to grant his idea any validity.

Then the jukebox started playing the opening notes of an all too familiar, completely ridiculous song. Jayne frowned, and Dean's eyes widened in what could only be described as horror. A quick glance towards the jukebox revealed Jo to be the culprit.

_I can't fight this feeling any longer…_

"You've got to be kidding me," Jayne breathed.

_And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow…_

Dean looked at Jo, who was sauntering away from the jukebox now, a tray loaded down with dirty glasses in her hands. She set the tray down on the counter and looked at the pair of them, her hand on her hip. "What?" she demanded.

_What started out as friendship has grown stronger… I only wish I had the strength to let it show…_

"REO Speedwagon?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Damn right, REO," Jo retorted. "Kevin Cronin sings it from the heart."

"No, he sings it from the hair," Dean quipped. "There's a difference."

"And I'm out," Jayne drawled, getting off the stool. Dean looked up at her in surprise, but Jo didn't seem all that heartbroken about her announcement. "Seriously, out."

She turned her back on both of them and headed back to the table where Ash had set up camp. There was no way she could do it. She could not sit with Dean, pretend that nothing had ever happened between them and watch him flirt with Jo, and she especially could not do it with REO Speedwagon playing in the background.

It was official; she kind of hated the Roadhouse.

* * *

><p>Dean didn't know what he had expected once the jukebox started playing REO Speedwagon, but Jo sauntering over to him and Jayne making a quick exit hadn't really crossed his mind. Still, Jayne had bailed the moment he and Jo had begun trading hair-metal jibes, and now Dean found himself alone with Jo, trying not to stare as she leaned on the counter and flipped her wavy blonde hair over her shoulder.<p>

He took a drink from his beer. Jo glanced over her shoulder at her mother, who was behind the bar, still messing with the glasses. "That profile you've got Ash looking for," Jo murmured. "Your mother died the same way, didn't she? A fire in Sam's nursery?"

More questions, of course. This had been exactly what Dean had wanted to avoid. He forced out a half-smile for her and said, "Look, Jo, it's kind of a family thing."

Again, she glanced over her shoulder at Ellen, and Dean had to wonder why. "I could help," she told him. Her eagerness was overwhelming, and Dean had to fight back the urge to wince.

"I'm sure you could," he allowed. "But we have to take care of this one ourselves."

Jo didn't look convinced. She glanced towards Ash's table, and then tilted her chin determinedly. "Jayne and Lynn aren't family," she pointed out. "Steve isn't family."

"That's different."

"Why?"

She might have formed the word 'why,' with her pouty pink lips, but it was crystal clear by her tone that Jo meant 'bull shit.' Dean swallowed, torn between appreciation for Jo's tenacity and frustration that she was cutting in on things she couldn't understand. He could have delivered some awkward, heartwarming sentiment about how Jayne and Lynn _were_ family, even if they weren't blood – and he couldn't deny that the sentiment would have been truth – but it also would have been sentiment, and Dean didn't have a lot of patience for that lately.

"It's their fight too," he said simply.

Jo narrowed her eyes. "It could be everyone's fight," she retorted. "That profile Sam has Ash running – it makes it sound like there are other people affected by the demon…"

"Jo," he snapped. "I said we had to take care of it ourselves. All right? Let it go."

She blinked. Dean forced out another smirk, trying to recover. "Besides, if I ran off with you, your mother might kill me."

Ellen looked up from the counter at that, almost as if she'd heard him, and frowned in their direction. Dean smiled painfully at her, and Ellen continued frowning at him, looking suspicious. Slowly, she lowered her eyes again.

Jo's hurt look faded into an amused smirk. "You're afraid of my mother?"

"I think so."

She ducked her head and laughed. Dean couldn't stop a genuine smile from spreading out across his face. Then Sam appeared with a stack of papers in his hand, and ruined the moment.

"We have a match," he said. "We got to go."

Then Sam turned and ran for the exit. Dean glanced at Jo, who had a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Bye Jo," he told her. "I'll see you later."

Then he grabbed his coat off the nearby chair and followed Sam out the door.

* * *

><p>Lynn sighed heavily as she stepped outside into the cool night air. The gravel lot in front of the Harvelle Roadhouse was now deserted, although her sister's truck was still parked in the grass, Dean's Impala was still parked in the lot nearby, and her brother's Superbird still sat in its shady corner. The night was clear, and the stars were out, but she was starting to drag. It had been a long day on the road, and the night didn't look like it was going to be any shorter.<p>

The gravel crunched under her boots as she strode purposefully for the truck, her sister walking on her left side and her brother keeping pace on the other. "So who is this guy we found in Guthrie?" Steve wanted to know.

"His name is Andrew Gallagher," Lynn replied. "And we didn't exactly find him."

Jayne frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Lynn sighed. "That he has no current address or place of employment. All we found was a trail of unpaid bills."

Her sister continued frowning at her. "So… we're looking for a homeless guy?"

Lynn rolled her eyes in annoyance. Steve smirked. "Hey, something we have in common, right?" he quipped.

"Steve!" Lynn sputtered at him. "We are not homeless!"

"Sure we are," he returned smoothly. "No current address or place of employment? Just us and the cars and the road… yeah, we're homeless."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he gave her a bright smile. "Shut up," she said.

They continued their walk across the dark gravel lot and came to a collective stop at the side of Jayne's rusty gray truck. Jayne was still frowning, and now she leaned against the truck bed and fixed Lynn with a pair of searching eyes.

"And why are we looking for this homeless guy?" she asked.

Lynn shrugged. "Sam seems to think his vision, or whatever… well, you know. His visions are always about the demon, or about people like him, and…"

"And this Andrew Gallagher guy was born in '83, and lost his mother in a nursery fire on his six month birthday?" Jayne supplied.

Lynn heaved a sigh. "Exactly."

"So, what?" Steve asked, leaning his hip against the truck's front bumper and kicking at some loose dirt. "We just assume people like Sam… people like _me_…"

She winced at her brother's comment. He kept going. "We're all just killers, waiting to be unleashed, and now it's Andrew Gallagher's turn?"

"_No_," Lynn replied fiercely, staring her brother straight in the eye. "We do _not_ just assume that. OK? But in this case… Sam had that vision for a reason, all right? Let's just… let's just stop with all the speculating until we get to Guthrie and get a better handle on everything that's going on? All right?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Jayne agreed immediately.

Steve shrugged, casting his eyes on the ground. "Yeah, all right," he murmured. Lynn studied him critically, and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He didn't look happy; he didn't look at ease. He looked moody and weird and… _worried_. In short, he did not look like Steve. He looked a little like Sam, but not like Steve.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Peachy," he returned shortly, and then lifted his eyes from the ground. Lynn continued to frown at him, but Steve gave her another wide, mocking smile. "Let's get on the road."

Then he turned his back on his sisters and marched towards the Bird, parked just a little ways down the lot. Lynn watched him, her lower lip caught between her teeth, as he walked across the lot, kicking at the gravel. She didn't look away until he'd reached his car and swung open the driver's side door.

"We should get going," Jayne spoke up, just as Steve climbed into his car. Lynn shook her head and turned to face her sister.

"Right," she murmured, squeezing out a sheepish smile. "Let's go."

They both got into the truck, Jayne taking the wheel once again. Lynn didn't say anything at first. She sat in silence as her sister started up the engine and followed the Impala back to the highway. Her brother's car appeared in the rearview mirror, following them as well, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

Jayne glanced at her out the corner of her eye but offered nothing in the way of conversation. They continued on the road in silence for a moment, until Lynn simply couldn't stand it any longer.

"You know, we really haven't seen him a long time," she voiced.

Her sister shrugged, eyes on the road. "What else is new?"

"This is different," Lynn countered. "He's been in touch. He hasn't been hiding. It's just… after what happened in South Dakota, at the hospital… I guess I'd just hoped he'd be around more, you know?"

"Well, he's here now," Jayne pointed out. She looked uncomfortable, like she didn't want to be discussing their brother right then. Lynn didn't care about that, though, and kept right on going.

"Right… because _we_ called _him. _Because Sam had a vision, and there's a hunt involved, and it might have something to do with the demon we all want to kill. I don't know… is it too much to ask for a normal family gathering?"

"Considering who we are?" Jayne retorted. "Yeah, kind of."

Lynn rolled her eyes. "I know we're not a normal family, Jayne. But sometimes I don't feel like a family at all. Sometimes I feel like we're business partners or something. We only get together when there's a problem… when there's a _job_. It shouldn't be this way."

Her sister didn't reply right away. She simply stared at the road, clutching the steering wheel just a little too hard. Lynn watched her for awhile, and then she sighed, lowering her eyes to the matted, dirty carpet on the cab floor.

"You should tell him that," Jayne spoke up suddenly.

Lynn whipped her head back up and gawked at her. "What?"

"You should tell him that," she repeated. "Let Steve know this shit isn't going to fly with you."

"With us."

"Sure, whatever."

"Will you say something?"

Jayne shifted uncomfortably in the seat, still keeping her eyes on the road. Lynn watched her expectantly, although she had a feeling that she already knew what her sister was going to say.

"It's not really my thing," Jayne said at last. "This is your stuff."

"You don't feel the same way?"

There was another long pause. "I don't know," Jayne shrugged. "Maybe. A little."

"Then we should both say something."

Jayne had no reply for that, and Lynn rolled her eyes, flopping back against the seat. They fell silent again, and Lynn kept her eyes trained on the passing trees and scrub brush outside the passenger window.

She loved Jayne and Steve with all her heart, but sometimes she really wanted to strangle them both.

* * *

><p>Sam squinted at the papers in his hand as the Impala sped down the dark, empty highway in the direction of Guthrie, Oklahoma, leaving the Roadhouse miles behind them. The truck followed close behind, its headlights cutting through the rear windshield and shedding light on the words he was trying to read. A quick glance in the side mirror revealed the front end of Stephen Juarez's bright orange muscle car riding the truck's back bumper.<p>

Sighing, Sam shook his head and tried to focus on his papers again. Dean was thumping his hand against the steering wheel to the beat of a song only he could hear, and Sam was finding it incredibly distracting. Rolling his eyes, Sam tucked his first paper behind the others and squinted down at the second page.

"And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight… you're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night…"

Sam frowned, looking up incredulously at his brother, who had, for some unknown reason, burst into song. Dean didn't seem to notice him at all – his eyes were on the road, and his head was bobbing along to the words.

"And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might…"

"You're kidding, right?" Sam demanded, interrupting before his brother could get to the 'I can't fight this feeling anymore,' part. It was a serious relief.

Dean glanced at him, and then shrugged, trying not to look embarrassed. He failed. "I heard the song somewhere; I can't get it out of my head… I don't know, man." He nodded at the papers in Sam's lap. "What have you got?"

Sam sighed and shook his head, returning his focus to the papers. "Andrew Gallagher," he announced. "Born in '83… like me. Lost his mother in a nursery fire exactly six months later… also like me."

Dean raised his eyebrow. "You think the demon killed his mom?"

Sam shrugged."It sure looks like it."

"How'd you even know to look for this guy?"

It wasn't the most intelligent of questions. Sam shook his head slowly, focusing his gaze on the dashboard. Couldn't Dean see the signs?

"Every premonition I've had," he explained. "If they're not about the demon, they're about other kids the demon visited. Like Max Miller. Remember him?"

Dean kept his eyes on the road, and a small, not entirely sincere chuckle escaped his throat. "Yeah, but Max Miller was a pasty little psycho."

Sam pursed his lips and idly shuffled the papers in his lap. "Remember Landon Creevey?"

His brother snorted. "Landon Creevey?" he scoffed. "He doesn't count. There was no fire in his nursery, his mother's still alive…"

"Yeah, I know," Sam interrupted. "But he was my age, Dean. Born in '83. He had a psychic ability, and he was using it to hurt people… and that ability? It didn't work on me. We can't pretend that didn't happen, ok? He could have been one of the demon's special kids, or whatever."

Dean shrugged, sucking his cheek in and looking moody. "Yeah, not buying it."

Sam sighed and shook his head. "The point is, they were both killing people, and I was having visions about it. And now it could be happening all over again, with this Gallagher guy."

His brother was still focused on the road. "How do we find him?" he practically barked.

Sam shrugged, turning desolate as he stared down at the little bit of info Ash had managed to glean about Andrew Gallagher. "I don't know," he admitted. "No current address, no current employment… still owes money on all his bills… phone, credit, utilities…"

"No collection agency flags?" Dean demanded.

"He's not in the system."

His brother gave him an incredulous look. "They just let him take a walk?"

Sam raised his eyebrows at the paperwork. "Seems like it."

They fell silent for a moment, Dean frowning at the road again. "There's a work address from his last W2," Sam announced. "From about a year ago. Let's start there."

Dean nodded silently. Sam put his papers aside and leaned back tiredly in his chair. The Impala continued eating up the road, pressing forward through the dark, and neither Sam nor Dean spoke another word for quite a few miles.

They were both too worried about what they would face when they finally found Andrew Gallagher.

* * *

><p>Dean's shoulders were tense and knotted underneath the itchy, too warm suit jacket Sam had forced him to wear. He glowered at the road in front of him as he steered his car towards the greasy spoon of a diner where Andrew Gallagher had last worked.<p>

He was not tired and cranky because of the long, nighttime ride from Mullen to Guthrie. He was not tense and annoyed because Sam kept bringing up the demon and trying to paint his psychic ability as a ticking time bomb – like Sam honestly thought that one day he'd go from visions to murder. Over night. Which was, of course, complete crap.

No, Dean was pissed off because of the squirrely young kid in his backseat.

Steve Juarez would not sit still, and his constant shuffling around in the backseat was even starting to grate on Sam's nerves. Dean could tell by the way Sam kept raising his eyebrow and shooting incredulous, mildly annoyed glances over his shoulder.

While his younger brother sat silently in the passenger seat, giving Steve the eyebrow, Dean refused to turn around or acknowledge the kid at all. In an ideal world, the kid would be back at the motel with his sisters, who had agreed to stay behind and continue researching the town in hopes of finding the hardware store from Sam's vision. After all, all five of them couldn't go into the diner and question Gallagher's ex-coworkers. Talk about drawing attention to themselves.

But Steve had refused to stay behind. Fists had almost been thrown over the whole situation. And Sam had relented and allowed the kid to come, because Sam was an empathetic idiot.

It had been all murmured, sympathetic bullshit about how Steve was in the same boat Sam was, and of course the kid would want to be in on the search for Andrew Gallagher, and how they should respect that and let him come with them. After all, weren't they all in this together?

So Dean had rolled his eyes and let Sam have his way, and now all three of them were in the Impala and headed for the diner, even though Dean didn't want the kid there at all, and didn't believe they were all in on this together. Steve kept leaving, didn't he? Bailing on his sisters, barely ever calling them up, causing them all kinds of trouble and worry? Kid could suck it, for all Dean cared.

"Man, this car sucks," Steve muttered in the backseat. "How old are these seats, man? Did you take them off an even older POS and stick them in here?"

Dean saw red, and the brief moment of rage caused him to wheel the car way too fast into the nearest parking space and brake with a jolt. Sam and Steve lurched forward.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "What the hell, man?"

He ignored his brother, putting the car in park and whirling around to glower at the interloper. "You're new around here, so I'm not going to kill you," he informed Steve. "But for future reference? We don't talk shit about my car!"

Steve scoffed. A short, disbelieving chuckle escaped his throat, and the brat pulled the corners of his mouth in a smug, mocking smirk. Sam pinched his nose in exasperation, leaning back hard against the passenger seat, and Steve glanced at him for confirmation that yes, Dean had just said that.

"Is he for real?" Steve demanded.

"Unfortunately, yes," Sam grumbled into his hand.

"The Impala isn't even a real muscle car," Steve informed Dean, sending the elder Winchester's blood pressure through the roof. "No self respecting drag racer would even consider putting this thing on the track. You, my friend, are driving a tricked out _sedan_."

Dean could feel his expression turn from hard to full-on murderous. He bolted out of the car and slammed the door behind him. "All right, get out!" he barked into the open window. "Now!"

Steve made an incredulous face. "What?"

"You and me, kid. Let's go!"

"Dean…" Sam murmured warningly.

"I'm going to kill him," Dean snapped at his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car. Steve threw open the back door and climbed out too. Dean clenched his fists as Steve slammed the door behind him.

"All right, fine!" Steve retorted, raising his arms challengingly. "Let's do this!"

Sam had already marched around the back bumper of the car, however, and now he was forcing himself in between them. "Enough, already!" he exclaimed, giving them both his patented disapproving eyebrows. "Seriously? Andrew Gallagher? Anyone remember him?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but straightened his suit jacket and relaxed. He was starting to feel guilty and sheepish. Steve looked like he felt something similar as he pulled on his bolo tie and straightened his leather coat.

Dean took a double-take. _He was wearing a freaking bolo tie? _With that tie, and Steve's leather jacket, complete with the small diamonds in his earlobes that he had neglected to remove, the kid looked less like an estate lawyer (their cover story) and a lot more like a mob boss… or a cowboy... or a bald Bruce Springsteen. Either way, it was bad.

Sam had apparently just noticed the kid's attire too, because he squinted at Steve's neck and asked incredulously, "Is that a _bolo _tie?"

Steve shrugged, straightening his coat again. He tilted his chin confrontationally, towards the sky. "What about it?" he retorted.

Dean cocked his eyebrow, and looked at Sam. His brother shook his head and sighed in defeat, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "Whatever," he said. "Let's just work the job, please?"

He started walking towards the diner, and Dean followed him. Steve rolled his eyes, but he too fell in line. Dean stopped short and whirled around to level a threatening finger in Steve's face.

"My baby," he growled. "Is _not_ a sedan."

Steve smirked. "It hurts because it's true."

Dean lunged at him, and Sam caught him by the back of his jacket, tugging him in the direction of the diner. "Enough!" he bellowed again. "Walk it off, Dean!"

Steve smirked again. Dean glowered at him some more, and then he turned his back on the punk kid, straightened his suit jacket _again_, brushed past Sam, who was still shaking his head, and marched up to the diner door.

It was slow in the dim, gray place. Only a few patrons were scattered among the hodgepodge collection of gray booths and small tables. Dean half expected some weird looks, considering the scene he was sure the diner had witnessed them put on in the parking lot, but nobody even glanced their way. The hostess – a reasonably pretty, sweet-voiced blonde in a navy blue dress – led the three of them to a table and introduced herself as Tracy, before taking their drink orders. When she came back to the table with three mugs and a pot of coffee, Sam asked her about Andrew Gallagher.

She smirked, pouring the coffee into their cheap white mugs. "You won't get anything out of Andy, guys. I'm sorry, but they never do."

Dean frowned at that, and glanced at the other two guys at the table. Sam frowned too. "They?" he asked.

"You're debt collectors, right?" Tracy asked. "Once in a while they come by.I don't know what Andy says to them, but they never come back."

Her forehead was slightly crumpled as she spoke, and she stared at a spot across the diner, like she was trying to figure out just exactly what Andy said to the debt collectors.

"Actually, we're lawyers," Dean spoke up. "Representing his great aunt Lita." Steve snorted almost imperceptibly, and Dean gave him the side-eye. "She passed, God rest her soul, and left Andy with a sizeable estate."

"Yeah," Sam murmured, taking over. "So are you a friend of his?"

Tracy took a deep breath and nodded, her voice slightly shaky. "I used to be, yeah. I don't see much of Andy anymore."

"Andy?"

Dean winced at the overly enthusiastic exclamation, frowning at the excited young man who suddenly plopped himself down at their table. Sam frowned at him too, and Steve leaned back in his chair, raising his eyebrow and studying the newcomer critically. "Andy kicks ass, man!" the guy announced, grinning too wide.

"Is that right?" Dean returned, his eyes sweeping briefly over the kid's dorky shirt and close cropped brown hair. He was very average looking, with a patch of beard on his chin, and his pale blue eyes were set a little too close together.

"Yeah! Andy can get you into anything, man! He even got me backstage at Aerosmith once. It was beautiful, bro."

Tracy rolled her eyes, giving the busboy a look that suggested she'd heard it all before. "Uh-huh. How about busing a table or two, Webber?"

Webber looked a little embarrassed as he ducked his head and grabbed an empty coffee mug off their table. "Yeah, you bet, boss."

He ducked out of sight, and Dean exchanged a look with Sam, whose awkward half laugh proved he thought the busboy every bit as strange as Dean did. Steve frowned after the kid, and glanced at Tracy.

"He always like that?" he asked.

Tracy nodded and her lips quirked into a small, rueful smile. "Pretty much. Look, if you want to find Andy, try Orchard Street. Just look for a van with a barbarian queen painted on the side."

Dean blinked. "Barbarian queen?" he repeated.

Tracy nodded again, smirking at him. "She's riding a polar bear. It's kind of hard to miss."

She turned her back on them after that, the coffee pot dangling from her hand, and headed back into the kitchen. Dean watched her walk away, and then glanced at Sam and Steve. Sam was already downing the remainder of his coffee and tossing a few bills onto the table.

"Come on," he ordered, getting to his feet. "Let's head over to Orchard Street."

Dean eyed his brother as Sam walked briskly towards the exit. Then he glanced at Steve, meeting the kid's eyes accidentally. Steve raised his eyebrow. "He's eager," Steve observed.

He scoffed at the kid's commentary. "Just do me a favor and keep your mouth shut."

"Hey, man, I get it. We don't like each other. I'm honestly ok with that. But your brother's acting seriously cuckoo."

"What do you care?"

"I just don't want him to be a liability. I don't particularly enjoy getting psychically murdered, you know? I _really_ don't like the idea of my sisters getting psychically murdered. Pretty much against the getting murdered bit in general."

Dean gritted his teeth and glanced at the door. Sam was already standing by the Impala, gesturing impatiently at him from across the parking lot. Steve shot Sam a quick look, and then returned his eyes to Dean, raising his eyebrow again. "Can he handle this?" Steve wanted to know. "Tell me straight."

He was beyond annoyed at this point. Dean got to his feet, his jaw tight, and looked Steve in the eye. "We'll be fine," he told him in a low, threatening voice. "_Sam_ will be fine. Now, can we get this show on the road?"

With that, Dean turned his back on Steve and marched for the door. He heard Steve following behind him, but he refused to look back at the kid. Questioning Sam like that… hinting that his younger brother was out of control or a liability… he wasn't going to stand for it. He was worried about Sam, but that wasn't Steve's business. He refused to tell the kid _anything_.

No matter how much Dean might agree with him.

* * *

><p>Lynn frowned at her computer screen, running through a list of shops located in Guthrie, Oklahoma. Jayne was pacing the room, grunting into her cell phone, probably getting the play-by-play of whatever had happened at Andrew Gallagher's old workplace. It was a tiny room, a single open rectangle with a bathroom on the opposite wall from the door and the single, large window. The motel was older, but not rundown. It was actually kind of quaint, with polka-dot curtains hanging on the window and an avocado fridge from the 1950s. Unfortunately there was no air conditioning – only a single ceiling fan that lazily stirred up the stale summer heat, blowing it around the room.<p>

There was no Wi-Fi, either – Lynn had been forced to hack onto the network from the next door building. It hadn't been _too_ hard, but even still she wasn't sure the results were worth the small struggle. There was only one hardware store, from what she could tell, but there was also a separate gun shop, and she had no way of knowing which one was the store that had featured in Sam's vision.

Her sister hung up the phone and dropped down heavily into the chair across the table from her, sighing and swinging her feet up onto the tabletop. "That was Steve."

"Figured," Lynn replied, looking up from her laptop. "So, what's the deal?"

"Some chick at the diner said Gallagher hangs around Orchard Street. Gave them a description of his van."

"His van?" Lynn asked skeptically, raising her eyebrow.

"Yeah," Jayne returned, frowning at her boots. "I think he might live in it. Told you he was homeless."

Lynn rolled her eyes at that, and began looking for directions to Orchard Street. She could feel Jayne's eyes on her as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

"I don't think Steve and the boys got along so well this morning," Jayne commented.

She snorted. "Yeah, what did you expect?"

"Murder-suicide, so… no matter what happened, it went better than anticipated."

Lynn raised her eyebrow at her sister, and then shook her head. "I don't know why the hell he insisted on going with them in the first place."

Jayne shrugged. "Yellow eyed demon, special children with special powers… not trusting Sam and Dean _at all_… take your pick."

"He and Sam are getting super annoying about all that stuff," Lynn announced, copying down the directions to Orchard Street on the motel stationary. "Are we going to have to listen to their constant angst-y man pain for the entire hunt?"

Jayne chuckled dryly, shaking her head and rubbing her eyes. "Probably. They're swinging by to change, and then the five of us will head out."

"In the Impala?"

"Well, we ain't about to all fit in the truck."

There was a moment of silence. Lynn finished writing down the directions, and then she closed her laptop with a soft click. Jayne looked up from her fingernails and raised her eyebrow. "I don't get why he hates them so much," Lynn said.

Jayne shrugged again. "He doesn't know them."

"So?"

"So he doesn't trust them."

"He trusts us. He knows _us_. Shouldn't that be enough?"

Her sister focused her eyes on the tabletop, suddenly very interested in the grain of the wood. "I don't know. Maybe he thinks they're screwing with us. He gets protective sometimes. It's completely annoying and kind of ridiculous, seeing as he's the baby, but… whatever. We're family."

Lynn chewed her lip, considering the argument. "That might very well be," she half-conceded after a moment. "But we've been with the boys for months now. If Steve wanted to have an opinion, he shouldn't have bailed on us so many times."

"I'll pass it on," Jayne drawled sarcastically, getting to her feet. Lynn frowned at her as she crossed the room towards the kitchenette and grabbed a glass off the counter. The pipes clanked and groaned as she turned on the faucet and filled the cup.

"I cannot believe you," Lynn announced, glaring at her sister's back.

Jayne shut off the water and took a sip from the glass. She turned around to look at Lynn, leaning on the counter and frowning. "What?"

"You're going to make me be the bad guy."

"No one needs to be the bad guy. What the hell are you talking about, anyway?"

"What am I talking about…? Jayne, you cannot be serious."

"Well, I am, so… get explaining."

For a long, tense moment, Lynn stared at her sister incredulously, and Jayne stared evenly back, her eyebrow raised expectantly. She almost exploded – almost started yelling at her and throwing things, because Jayne could not seriously be this dense.

But before she could start the yelling, the door swung open and in marched Steve, wrestling off his bolo tie and throwing off his leather jacket. Lynn frowned at him as he stomped around the room, gathering up jeans and a more casual shirt.

Jayne's eyes followed him, her face arranged in a mildly curious expression. "How'd it go?" she asked dryly.

Steve shot her a glare over his shoulder. "Explain something to me. Why are we putting up with these two morons?"

"What did you do?" Lynn demanded immediately.

Her brother gaped at her in shock, and huffed, clearly offended. "What makes you so sure this is on me?"

Lynn snorted, returning his gawking with her own incredulous, openmouthed expression. "Maybe because it almost always is?"

"I didn't do a damn thing," Steve retorted, and then frowned slightly, amending that. "Well, I might have informed Dean his car was a sedan…"

"What?" Jayne interrupted. "Why would you do that?"

"Hey, I'm just speaking truth here. Anyway, I think the real reason the guy got so upset with me is because I said something about Sam."

Lynn narrowed her eyes. "What did you say about Sam?"

Steve snorted this time. "Please. Nothing you aren't already thinking. Come on, I can't be the only one who's seeing it! Guy's acting sort of crazy. I think maybe this hunt's a little too personal for him, and I don't want any of us dead because he can't get a grip on his demon issues."

"Of course Sam's freaked out," Lynn retorted, very aware even as she spoke that she had just been complaining about this very thing. Steve didn't need to know that. "This hunt could be connected to the _demon_, Steve! This Andrew Gallagher guy might have some sort of psychic power, like you and Sam! Why are you _not_ freaking out?"

Jayne raised her eyebrow again, shifting from one foot to the other where she leaned on the sink. She said nothing, and Lynn wanted to smack her. How dare she look so cool, calm and collected? It was like this hunt wasn't upsetting her at all.

Steve looked uncomfortable and fussed with the collar of his dress shirt. "I'm just not, ok?" he replied. "Look, I could – I could freak out easy. Hell, I have. But what's the point? Either the demon's involved, or he isn't. Either Gallagher's like us, or he's not. Maybe we're all killing machines, just waiting to be triggered – and maybe what we do with the demon mojo is our own choice. What good is freaking out going to do? It's all the same no matter how I react. So I'm not going to freak out. I've already had my personal pity party – I've already had my freak-out, and now I'm choosing to do something with all this crap and quit whining about it. Ok? Is that all right with you?"

He'd been so calm, right up until the end of the outburst. Towards the end, his voice rose so that he was yelling the final words, with his eyebrows furrowed and his stormy gray eyes growing even darker. Lynn blinked at him, and he stared her down, his chest heaving. She could have yelled back – she kind of wanted to – but she also didn't know what she could scream at him. Lynn was out of arguments.

She swallowed. "Fine," she whispered. "That's… of course it's… it's fine."

"Thank you," Steve snapped. Then he grabbed the rest of his clothes and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

She flinched as the loud _bang!_ echoed through the motel room. Then she turned her wide eyes on Jayne, who shrugged at her from across the room.

"So… I guess he's fine?" Lynn asked uncertainly.

Jayne shrugged again, her eyes on the floor. "Hey, maybe he is and maybe he isn't. At least he gets it; freaking out doesn't change what's going down around here. And I don't know about you, but I can only handle one Sam Winchester per hunt."

Lynn scoffed and made a face at her sister. "Well, I can only handle one Jayne Gibson per hunt, so… shut up."

Jayne chuckled at that. Someone knocked on the door, and Lynn rolled her eyes at her sister one last time before crossing the room to answer it. Standing outside were Sam and Dean, already changed and ready to go.

"You guys ready?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Just about," Lynn replied, stepping back. "Come on in."

They entered, neither one of them really saying anything as they did so. Sam shut the door behind him, and then stood awkwardly beside it with his hands shoved in his coat pockets and his shoulders hunched. Dean flopped down at the table and began drumming his fingers impatiently against the surface.

"I found a hardware store on Main Street," Lynn spoke up. Her voice sounded too loud in the silence, and everyone stared at her. "I think it's the right place – they sell guns and sports-ware, so…"

She trailed off and bit her bottom lip. Dean shrugged and stared at the floor. Jayne twitched the corner of her mouth in what Lynn assumed was meant to be a smile, as though she were trying to reassure her. Lynn did not feel reassured.

Sam forced a smile for her. "Ok. Sounds good."

She smiled back, and then her shoulders slumped and she took a seat on the edge of her bed. A few seconds later, Steve stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to leave.

"Finally," Dean grumbled. Then he got up from the table and marched out into the parking lot. Sam followed close on his heels. Lynn rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the bed, leading Jayne and Steve out of the room.

Jayne shut the door behind them. "We're taking the Impala," Dean announced, his keys already out and jangling in his hand.

"What?" Steve asked, frowning. "What's wrong with my car?"

"We're not all going to fit in the truck," Dean replied easily. "And you drive a giant carrot."

Steve bristled at that. "What Dean means," Sam quickly interjected. "Is that your car is… not exactly inconspicuous."

"Well, he's got a point there," Jayne drawled. Steve glared at her. "Oh, come on, Steve. It's bright orange, and the wing's as tall as I am."

Steve muttered something under his breath, but fell silent and followed the rest of them towards the Impala. "You know," he said as they drew nearer. "This car isn't exactly stake-out material either."

"Yeah, well, at least it's not orange," Dean smirked. Then he swung open the driver side door and climbed into the car.

Steve glared at the Impala. "I hate him," he announced.

"Don't sweat it," Jayne returned. "I think he feels the same way."

Then she climbed into the backseat and slammed the door. Lynn rolled her eyes and climbed into the car too, Steve on her heels. Once all five of them were crammed into the vehicle, Dean started her up and headed for Orchard Street.

It was a short, silent ride, and Andrew Gallagher's van was easy to spot. Dean coasted to a stop on the other side of the street, shutting off the engine but leaving the radio on. Lynn raised her eyebrow at the shiny, dark blue monstrosity parked in front of the nearby, sunny yellow apartment buildings. It was a full size van, with shiny metal roll bars and, sure enough, emblazoned on the side was an incredibly busty, redheaded barbarian queen. She was riding a polar bear.

"I'm sorry, I'm starting to like this dude," Dean proclaimed. "That van is sweet."

Lynn made a face and frowned at Jayne, who was crammed into the backseat beside her. Jayne just shrugged, and Lynn rolled her eyes in response. Steve was practically drooling at the van in question, and Lynn rolled her eyes a second time. She was never going to understand men.

Although, she got the feeling Sam didn't share his brother's infatuation with the barbarian queen. Sam was silent, practically glaring out the windshield, his eyes fixated on the van. Dean noticed this too. "What's wrong?" he frowned.

Sam didn't take his eyes away from the van. "Nothing."

Dean snorted. "Sammy, you look like you're sucking on a lemon. What's going on?"

"This Andrew Gallagher," Sam replied. "He's the second guy like this we've found – third, maybe. Demon came to them when they were kids; now they're killing people."

Max Miller's red face and twitchy eyes popped into Lynn's brain. She glanced at Steve, who slumped down in the seat and folded his arms over his chest, looking every bit like a petulant child.

"We don't know what Andrew Gallagher is," Dean retorted in a low, hard voice. "He could be innocent."

"My visions haven't been wrong yet!" Sam snapped. Clearly, he wasn't buying it, and to be honest, neither was Lynn.

"What's your point?" Dean asked.

"My point it, I'm one of them."

"No you're not."

"Dean, the demon said he had plans for me, and children like me."

"Oh god," Steve groaned from the backseat, running his hand over his face. "Kill me now."

Sam glowered over his shoulder at him. "Children like _us_," he amended. "You know, you should be worried about this too."

"You know what, you're right," Steve retorted, sitting up straight and leaning forward. "Let's all worry together. We can sit side-by-side in the dark, staring out the rainy windows, and bite our nails. Sound good? Come on, man, even if the demon _does_ have plans for us, isn't sitting around worrying about it when we can't _do_ anything about it kind of a colossal waste of time?"

There was a brief moment of silence. Lynn worried her lower lip with her teeth, really not wanting to have this conversation again. Sam gaped incredulously at her brother, while Jayne pretended something just outside her window was absolutely fascinating.

Dean scoffed from the front seat. "Kid's got a point," he murmured. "Admitting that physically hurt, but… a point's a point."

"No!" Sam argued. "It's not a point! Look, what if _this_ is his plan? We _have _to be aware of that! I mean, what if we're all just a bunch of psychic freaks! Maybe we're all supposed to be…"

"What?" Dean interrupted. "Killers?"

"Yeah!"

"So the demon wants you out there, killing with your minds! Is that it?"

Sam made a face and fell silent, glaring petulantly at the dashboard. "Oh, give me a break," Dean grumbled. "You're not a murderer, Sam! You don't have it in your bones."

There was a brief moment of pause, and then Sam asked skeptically, "No?"

Dean looked away from him, his face suggesting he had already anticipated Sam's reply. "Last I checked," Sam pressed. "I kill all kinds of things."

"Those things were asking for it. There's a difference."

Another silence followed Dean's proclamation, and then the elder Winchester ducked his head and stared out the driver side window. Lynn sighed as quietly as she could, leaning back gingerly in the seat. Jayne rolled her eyes beside her.

"This is stupid," she announced. Four pairs of eyes turned on her. "No, really, it is," she insisted. "Who cares _what_ the demon's plans are? Nobody's making you follow them!"

Sam blinked at that, and Lynn swallowed a little too hard. Both Steve and Dean stared at her with hard, unreadable expressions. Jayne rolled her eyes again. "Even if he wants you all to be killers," she said, in a softer tone this time. "It doesn't really matter. The demon can have all the plans in the world for you two, but in the end, who really gives a damn? Just don't do it."

More silence followed that statement, and Jayne redirected her gaze out the window. "And quit talking about it," she grumbled. "All we ever end up doing is rehashing the same shit over and over again, anyway. It's pointless. Shut up."

Lynn would have liked to strangle her sister for saying something so insensitive, but at the same time she was hit with a sudden realization that Jayne was right. Every time they opened this topic for discussion, everyone said the same shit they always said, and nothing ever got resolved. Maybe it _was_ better to table the subject until they had more information to work with.

Before anyone could agree or disagree with Jayne, however, Sam straightened in his seat and frowned at the apartment building across the street. "Got him," he informed them all.

Lynn looked over at the building immediately and found the man in question stepping out through the white door on the corner. He looked the same as he did in the ID photo Ash had gotten for them – pale and scruffy, with brown hair arranged in a perpetual case of bed-head, and a patch of beard on his chin. Also, sideburns.

She scrunched up her face at him. There was some sort of ridiculous comic book store medallion hanging around his neck, and he wore a faded black tee shirt, worn looking sweatpants, and a kimono. That's right – an actual kimono, hanging wide open and billowing out behind him like a cape. It was dark green and silky and had a big yellow dragon printed on the back. He was grinning goofily as he sauntered lazily down the sidewalk, and he glanced up at the window of the apartment he'd apparently just come from. A very busty, very pretty young blonde woman was sitting on the windowsill in a barely there black robe, waving at him enthusiastically. He blew her a kiss, and continued on down the sidewalk.

Lynn frowned deeper, and Sam and Dean exchanged incredulous looks in the front seat. Steve scoffed beside her, sitting up straighter. "What the hell?" he muttered.

Next, Andrew Gallagher encountered another young man walking up the street towards him, and stopped to compliment him on his jeans. As the four of them watched, the plaid vest wearing newcomer handed the kimono-clad kid his to-go coffee, and then continued merrily on his way. Gallagher thanked him, took a heavy gulp of the drink, and kept right on walking.

"Ok," Lynn murmured. "That was a little weird…"

Gallagher hit the street corner, obviously headed for his ridiculous van, when he stopped to shake hands with a portly, African-American man, whose curly hair was turning gray, and who had crinkles forming at the corners of his brown eyes. The man smiled wide, and the two of them started talking pleasantly.

"Wow," Jayne said sarcastically on Lynn's right. "Well, that settles it. Kid's a criminal mastermind."

Lynn smacked her arm and shushed her. Before Jayne could offer a retort – and she had definitely been about to, Lynn could tell – Sam gasped from the front seat and leaned towards Dean's window.

"That's him!" he exclaimed, gesturing at the older man. "That older guy – that's him, he's the shooter!"

That shut Jayne up, and Lynn bit her lip worriedly. She watched through the rear windshield as the kid said goodbye and headed for his van. The older man patted him on the shoulder, and then kept going in the opposite direction.

"All right," Dean broke the quiet, taking charge. "Sam, Steve, Lynn – you stick with the shooter. Jayne and I will tail Andy."

Sam nodded and vaulted out of the car. Jayne slid out of the backseat and into the front, and Lynn exited the car behind her sister. Steve rolled his eyes, grumbled something under his breath, and then he too got out of the car.

Andy started his van across the street, and instantly Dean's Impala rumbled to life. Lynn cast a glance backwards as she crossed the street, watching Dean swing his car around, and then follow Andy's van down Orchard Street, around the corner, and out of sight.

She swallowed too hard, and then followed along behind Sam and her younger brother. They were tailing the older man from Sam's vision, trying to be as discreet as possible. Nobody they passed even glanced their way.

Lynn sidled up alongside Sam, looking around her warily. "Anything look familiar?" she asked.

He shook his head, and then pointed up the road, where Orchard met Main Street. "Just that clock tower up ahead."

She nodded and swallowed again, her stomach turning with ill ease. Steve sighed from behind them, and she frowned over her shoulder at him. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and he was glaring at everything they passed.

"You sure about this?" he asked suddenly. "Following the shooter… you think he's going to make the move now? And if he is… you think this is safe?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't think we have a lot of options."

Steve nodded only once, reluctantly conceding. Lynn mustered up a sympathetic smile for her brother, and then returned her eyes to the sidewalk in front of her. The three of them fell into a tense, uncomfortable silence.

She was getting tired having too few options.

* * *

><p>Dean's car rumbled just a little too loud as they followed Andy's van just a little too close. His eyes were focused too hard on the van's back bumper, and Jayne was starting to get a little bit annoyed at the whole situation.<p>

She was even more annoyed that he'd put his arm over the back of her seat when he'd been turning the car around at the beginning of the chase, and he'd yet to remove it. More than anything else that had conspired between them lately, Jayne hated the mixed signals.

"Ten and two," she grunted at him.

Dean looked at her funny, and then seemed to notice his arm was on her seat. He jerked the arm back like he'd touched fire and put both hands on the steering wheel before clearing his throat awkwardly. "Sorry," he muttered.

As a result, they lapsed into seriously uncomfortable silence. Jayne rolled her eyes, not only at Dean, but at herself as well. She glared at the van as they followed it past the cute, quirky buildings in a multitude of colors – sunny yellows, muted blues, pale grays, mint greens. They rounded a curve, coming up close to a row of cars parked parallel against the curb, and then Andy wheeled his van down a quiet, mostly deserted street, past a white picket fence, and an old white building. The street ended abruptly before them, where it ran into a perpendicular road that was narrow and dusty. At the end of the street was some sort of old, possibly abandoned warehouse, and a beat up iron fence surrounded the weed speckled, dirt lot.

Andy stopped his van before the fence and shut off the engine. Jayne frowned at the van, and then frowned at Dean. He put the Impala in park, and then he reached across her legs, his wrist brushing against her thigh as he grabbed hold of the pistol he'd been hiding in the glove compartment.

"Be cool," he ordered her, tucking the weapon into his jacket.

Jayne raised her eyebrow at that, and would have offered some sort of scathing retort if Andy hadn't chosen that moment to climb down from his van and walk back towards the Impala.

"Hey!" he greeted them, his tone friendly and his smile genuine. Jayne frowned at him as he came up to the car and plopped his hands down heavily on the side of the Impala. Dean flinched noticeably at the suspected malice towards his baby, and Jayne rolled her eyes.

"Hey," he said to the kid, his voice wavering slightly. Jayne could see his hand still gripping the gun inside his coat. Andy leaned into the window, and nodded in her direction.

"What's up?"

She glared at him. "You're blocking the road."

Dean whipped his head around to glower at her incredulously. Andy laughed.

"Sorry. Man, this is a cheery ride!"

Dean redirected his frown at Andy. "Yeah, thanks."

"67? Impala's best year, if you ask me." The kid laughed, and then eyed the car appreciatively once again. "Man, this is a serious classic."

It was almost predictable, the way Dean's hand slid off his gun and his shoulders relaxed. "Yeah," he grinned, patting the steering wheel, and Jayne was forced to roll her eyes a second time. "You know, I just rebuilt her too."

"Yeah?"

"Can't let a car like this go."

"Damn straight!" Andy agreed enthusiastically, pounding Dean on the shoulder. Jayne made a face at the two of them. As annoying as she currently found them both, she had to admit that this didn't exactly bode well for Sam's theory that Andy was some sort of psychic freak who went around murdering people with his mind. He seemed like a perfectly nice, albeit eccentric, homeless guy.

"Say," Andy said, leaning closer into the window. His voice dropped a pitch, taking on an almost breathless quality, and something about his tone, coupled with his suddenly very intense eyes set off warning bells in Jayne's brain. "Can I have it?"

"Sure, man!" Dean immediately agreed, climbing out of the car. Jayne screwed up her face incredulously, watching the two men trade seats.

"Whoa!" she exclaimed. "Hold up! Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

"Everything's fine," Andy told her as Dean shut the door behind him. "You should probably get out of the car though."

Instantly, her brain shut off. She could hear herself say, "Yeah, I probably should." She watched herself climb out of the car and slam the door behind her. She felt herself wave at the kid who was currently stealing Dean's car.

It wasn't her, though, not really. It was like she'd completely lost control.

"There you go," Dean grinned stupidly.

Andy chuckled from inside the car and put the Impala in gear. "Take it easy!" he called out the window.

"All right," Dean chuckled back. Suddenly, Jayne felt the numb, happy-go-lucky feeling that had taken over her brain fade away, and she was back to frowning at both Dean and the tail end of his car as it disappeared down the road.

Dean, too, seemed to be getting back to normal. His grin faltered, and he slowly frowned after his baby, as though he had just realized exactly what is was he'd done.

The Impala vanished around the corner. Jayne watched it go, and then she stared at Dean. Still frowning, he tore his eyes away from the end of the street and met her gaze. There was a short moment of silence and staring, and then everything seemed to click for Dean.

"What the hell?" he exploded.

Jayne raised her eyebrow. "You just gave your car to the psychic serial killer," she informed him.

"I know that!" Dean bellowed. "Why didn't you stop me?"

She held up her hands defensively. "I tried!"

Dean shook his head, and stared off down the street again. "He full on Obi Wan-ed me!"

Jayne nodded. "Yeah. He full on Obi Wan-ed you."

He glared at her. "You too," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, fine, me too. You were way worse, though. At least I didn't give him my car."

Dean scoffed at that. "He wouldn't have asked for _your_ car."

Jayne huffed indignantly.

There was another silence. Dean stared once again at the spot where his car had last been. They stood there awkwardly in the street for a moment, and Jayne folded her arms over her chest, frowning up and down the road.

Dean caught her eye again. She shrugged at him. "Guess we're walking," she said.

He sneered.

Jayne turned her back on him and headed for Andy's van. She rounded the back bumper and marched straight for the driver's side door.

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded as she pulled the door open and ducked her head into the van.

"Snooping," she retorted, climbing all the way into the front seat and practically laying across it, yanking open the glove compartment. She started rooting through Andy's insurance papers, car registration, wet naps…

"Anything interesting?" Dean's low voice rumbled out from behind her, closer than she was expecting. She jumped slightly and looked over her shoulder, finding him leaning into the van directly above her. "Or, you know… useful?"

She shrugged, resuming her search. "Not really."

Dean sighed and leaned against the open door. Jayne gave up on the glove compartment and sat up on the seat, her long legs dangling out the door. She found herself inches from Dean's face, and instinctually swallowed, hard.

He swallowed too. She watched the bob of his Adam's apple, and then looked up. His eyes bored into hers. For a moment, Jayne sat frozen in the van, staring at Dean. He leaned in, ever so slightly, his gaze traveling down towards her lips.

Then his cell phone rang, and the moment ended.

Which was a good thing, Jayne told herself, when he answered the phone and practically ran away from her. Every time they had a moment, after all, Jayne wound up feeling miserable and confused the very next day – sometimes even as soon as later that afternoon.

She'd really like to quit being miserable and confused.

* * *

><p>Sam was starting to panic.<p>

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, of course, he'd have to admit he'd been on the verge of panic all day. But now, he had officially teetered over the edge and was operating on one hundred percent panic mode.

He was still walking down the sidewalk, following along behind the portly doctor from his vision and watching his every move. Lynn was at his side, and she looked a little lost. Sam suspected she was waiting for some kind of signal from him. After all, she didn't _exactly_ know what he'd seen inside his head.

Steve looked kind of bored, trailing along behind them and taking in all the sights the street had to offer. Sam shook his head, annoyed at Lynn's brother but determined not to cause another scene like the one Dean had instigated earlier that day.

They followed the man up the street, passing people Sam vaguely recognized from his dream. The three of them passed the very familiar, gray stone clock tower on the corner. Sam glanced across the street, and saw the door to the fated hardware store.

His stomach dropped down through his feet and he had to swallow back his nausea when the doctor's cell phone began to ring. The man answered it promptly, and the dread only spread. Swallowing again, Sam glanced across the street, watching the Blue Ridge Line bus pass by with a hiss and a groan.

He glanced both ways and then ran across the road, leaving Lynn and Steve staring after him on the curb. Sam ignored the stares he could feel them directing at his back and jogged up the front steps of the hardware store.

Sam ducked inside the store, glancing around him quickly. A rush of déjà-vu hit him so hard, he almost lost his breath. He recognized the people standing around in all the same spots he saw them in his vision. There, at the back of the store, behind the gun counter, Dennis leaned on the show glass, thumbing through a magazine. The walls were the same bright white, the lights were still harsh and florescent, and there were still plumbing fixtures mounted on the walls.

On the left hand side of the door was the fire alarm. Sam glanced around one more time, looking to see if he was being watched, and then he gave the wire a tug. Immediately, the alarm started going off, causing everyone around the store to look up in concern. Sam ducked back outside, and a steady stream of customers and employees followed him out into the sun, gathering on the sidewalk.

Lynn and Steve were waiting at the curb for him. Sam glanced at them, and then at the doctor, who was standing in front of the steps, frowning at the store and its blaring alarm system. Finally, the guy shrugged and walked away.

Sam heaved a sigh of relief and joined Lynn and Steve at the curb. "Good thinking," Lynn whispered to him, and Sam gave her a nod of thanks.

"Hope it worked," he murmured.

At that moment, Dean's Impala sped up the street. Sam frowned at the approaching car, and his jaw dropped when he realized that his brother was not behind the wheel.

Andrew Gallagher was driving the Impala.

Sam gawked after his brother's car as Lynn slowly shook her head, closing her eyes with exasperation. "Somebody please tell me I didn't just see Andy driving the Impala," she sighed.

Steve whistled, frowning after the car as it roared on up the road. "Damn," he said. "Your brother's going to be pissed."

Sam already had his phone out, and now he frantically dialed Dean's cell number. Once his brother answered, Sam exclaimed into the receiver, "Dean, Andy's got the Impala!"

"I know!" Dean snapped over the line. "He just… sort of asked me for it, and I… I let him take it."

"You what?" Sam exploded.

"He full on Obi Wan-ed me! It's mind control, man!"

Lynn was frowning at him, silently mouthing, 'What happened?' Sam shrugged her off, wanting to get to the bottom of things before he had to make any explanations.

"Oh, no," he heard Steve mutter beside him, distracting him from his phone conversation and his brother's stolen car. Then, Steve's voice got louder and panicked. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait, man!"

Sam whirled around to see why Steve was yelling. Steve darted forward, off the curb, racing after the doctor. Sam nearly dropped his phone, his arm falling to his side, as he watched the large, older man step directly in front of a Blue Ridge Line bus.

Shoes went flying. The doctor hit the pavement, and the bus sped right on over him. The onlookers gasped and screamed at the sudden, jarring impact. Steve faltered in the street, and Lynn yelped beside Sam, her hands flying over her mouth. Cars swerved to a stop around the scene, tires squealing and horns honking.

The bus came to a stop a few feet down the road, but it was too late for anything to be done – everyone could see that. Horrified, Sam gaped at the grisly spot on the road, his face scrunching up as he fought back both tears and nausea. Lynn grabbed his arm and yanked him back a few steps, forcibly turning him away from the scene and making him look at her instead.

Steve groaned, taking a shaky step back onto the curb, and running his hand over his shaven head. "Should have moved faster," he heard the other man mumbling.

"Sam," Lynn murmured, taking his hands. "Look at me. There's nothing you could have done."

He looked at her, but he didn't believe her. He should have kept watch on the man – he shouldn't have assumed it would just be over, just like that.

This was nobody's fault but his.


	8. Simon Said

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to ColtFan165, Amber, AshlynPaige92, SPN Mum, Spelllesswonder29, angeleyenc, 69camaro, Nelle07, ThreeMoons3, yollymolly, lovesthe80s, Aelthar101, LoveLeigh, Guest, Anon, Guest and DesElements for all the reviews!

Wow. Sorry, everyone! I know it's been a _really_ long time since I last updated. Honestly, I have no real excuse, other than I got hit with a serious case of writer's block. I don't know what it was about this chapter, but it did _not_ want to happen. I'm really sorry! Thanks to everyone for their reviews and their patience. You rock! Enjoy.

* * *

><p>Chapter 8: Simon Said<p>

By the time Dean reached Main Street, the place was swarming with police officers and EMTs. An ambulance parked at the side of the road was still flashing it's red emergency lights, and the attendants in their navy jumpsuits were crouched over a lump in the street, draping a black plastic shroud over what Dean assumed was the doctor's body.

Civilians were milling about, rubbernecking at the unexpected tragedy, and a few of them were giving statements to the local PD. Sitting on the curb beneath a small tree, staring at the EMTs and the lump in the road, was his little brother.

Lynn was kneeling beside Sam, rubbing his back. Dean could see Steve some distance away, flashing obviously fake credentials at the local police. Shaking his head, Dean glanced over his shoulder at Jayne, who was following him towards Sam. She just stared back at him, one eyebrow raised, with her face set in an unreadable expression. Dean looked away, unaccountably annoyed.

They made it to the curb, approaching Sam and Lynn from behind. His brother's shoulders were slumped dejectedly under his gray coat, and Lynn's coppery hand was still moving in small circles between his shoulder blades. Dean frowned at the two of them, crouching down on his brother's right side.

Lynn glanced up at him, slightly startled, and then looked over her shoulder at her sister, catching Jayne's eye and quirking her lips in a small, sad smile. Sam barely even acknowledged his presence. His eyes were still fixed on the body.

"I kept him out of the gun store," Sam spoke up, his voice hoarse. "I thought he was ok. I thought he was past it. I should have… I should have stayed with him."

Dean had nothing to say to that. He stared at the side of his brother's face, trying to decide what the best thing to say would be. Something along the lines of 'this wasn't your fault,' or 'you couldn't have known.'

He chose to say nothing, because all the words that were flitting through his mind seemed empty and meaningless and he knew they wouldn't make Sam feel any better at all.

A quick glance at the small squad of policemen revealed Steve Juarez sauntering towards their sad little huddle, navy over-shirt swinging from his hand. When he reached the curb, he stopped in front of them and swung the shirt over his heavily tanned shoulder, bare save for the white strap of his wife-beater. Jayne raised her eyebrow at him, and Steve shrugged awkwardly, running a hand over his close-shaven scalp.

"So, they're calling it an accident," he announced. "No one's got a reason to suspect suicide, and there's no evidence supporting foul play, so…"

"We know better," Sam interrupted, his voice hard. "It was Andy. I saw him on his cell phone when he was driving the Impala."

Dean stood up quickly, shrugging one shoulder uncomfortably. "We don't know that for sure," he argued.

Sam scoffed. "We don't?"

"Did you see the doctor on the phone?" Dean countered.

His brother had no answer for that. He stared at the street, moving his lower jaw around. Steve cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. "I did," he admitted. "Right before he walked in front of the bus. I tried to… I mean, I thought he might, and I wanted to… Just didn't move fast enough, I guess."

Lynn's hand fell from Sam's shoulder and she clambered off the ground, reaching out for her brother. "Steve, you can't blame yourself, ok? This is not _anyone's_ fault."

Her brother ducked away from her comforting hand and shrugged apathetically. It didn't take a genius to see the apathy was an act. "Yeah, I know," he muttered. "I'm not blaming me."

Dean saw something in the kid's eyes that made him think Steve was full of crap. It didn't remind him of Sam, honestly… Sam, with his big puppy eyes and pouty lower lip and grand speeches about the demon and its plans and how everything was his fault.

It reminded him of Jayne, and the way she refused to look people in the eye or the way her jaw got all tight – except for the tremble in her lower lip that _always_ gave her away – and of course, the apathetic shrugging that neither Jayne nor Steve ever really meant. But it didn't matter who Steve reminded him of in the moment, because the facts were the same – Steve blamed himself every bit as much as Sam did.

He could almost like the kid, recognizing that. Almost, but not quite.

"All right," Lynn spoke up suddenly, turning away from her little brother. She addressed the rest of them – Sam sitting on the curb, Dean standing at his side, and Jayne still lurking behind them with her arms folded defensively over her chest. "So… first things first. We need to get the Impala back before Andy realizes he just mind-controlled his way into the possession of an arsenal. With me?"

"Oh, hell yes," Dean retorted smoothly, quirking his lips at her. Lynn rolled her eyes.

"He went up the street, towards the diner you guys checked out earlier," she went on. "So… let's start there."

"Sounds like a plan," Jayne practically grunted, speaking up for the first time.

Lynn turned and headed up the street, the other four following close behind her. Steve walked just a little off to the side. He barely looked like he was a part of the group. Dean eyed him, disgruntled, and then glanced at his brother again. Sam was frowning at the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets as he shuffled along behind Lynn and Dean. Jayne was lagging behind him, her thumbs hooked in her belt loops as she swaggered along, taking her time, and pretending to be interested in the buildings and planters they passed along the street.

Dean made a face, suddenly annoyed with everyone except Lynn. It was an odd feeling, to say the least. He took a longer step than necessary, joining Lynn at her side. She was walking a lot faster than the rest of them, frowning at the road ahead of them. He assumed she was looking for his car.

"I cannot believe you gave away your car to the possible murder suspect," she informed him, and suddenly Dean was annoyed at her too.

"It was mind control!" he defended himself.

"Whatever," she scoffed, shaking her head.

They fell silent and continued the trek along Main Street. Eventually, Dean spotted his car parked along the side of the street, around the corner from the gray little diner where they'd spent the morning. She was sitting parked against the curb, the sunlight glinting off her shiny black paint job, and Dean had never seen a more beautiful sight in all his life.

"Thank god," he announced loudly, practically groaning in his relief. He jogged up to his car, circling the Impala and checking her for damage. "I'm sorry, baby," he said, leaning on his car and squinting into the open windows. "I'll never leave you again."

Lynn made a noticeable clucking sound and Dean looked up just in time to catch her rolling her eyes. Steve looked equally unimpressed, and Sam was frowning at him with impatience.

Jayne hung back from all of them, her arms still folded over her chest, but when he caught her eye, he saw an amused smile playing around her lips. Dean looked back down at his car, spotting the keys dangling from the ignition.

"Well, at least he left the keys in it," he observed aloud.

"Yeah," Sam snorted. "A real Samaritan, this guy."

Dean ignored the bitter sidebar, still checking out his car. "Well, it looks like he can't work his mojo just by twitching his nose; he's got to use verbal commands."

"And the doctor just got off his cell phone when he stepped in front of that bus," Sam said, shaking his head. "Andy must have called him."

Dean scrunched up his face and looked at the pavement. "I don't know, maybe."

Sam squinted at him incredulously. "Beg your pardon?"

"I just don't know if he's our guy, Sam."

"Dean, you had O.J. convicted before he stepped out of his white Bronco, and you have doubts about _this_?"

"He just doesn't seem like the stone cold killer type! That's all, you know? And O.J. was guilty!"

"Well, uncomfortable allusions to controversial court cases aside," Steve drawled, cutting into their disagreement. "Let's just look at the facts, all right? We've got a guy who's capable of mind control, and another guy who was mind controlled in front of a bus! Connect the dots, gentlemen."

The comment prickled, climbing under Dean's skin and making him want to throttle the snot-nosed brat. He turned slowly towards the younger man, his eyes murderous. Steve raised his eyebrow in response, still appearing totally unimpressed.

"Steve's got a point, Dean," Lynn murmured carefully. "Andy looks like the one responsible, that's all there is to it. Maybe he's not our guy, but until we know for sure we've got to keep investigating him."

"Agreed," Sam said quickly. "So, how do we track this guy down?"

Dean managed to stop being pissed long enough to come up with an idea – and honestly, it took a lot of effort. He brightened as he remembered the van with the barbarian queen. "Not a problem," he smirked.

All four of the other hunters gawked at him incredulously, but Dean paid them no attention. He slid behind the wheel of his car and turned the key in the ignition. "You coming or not?" he barked out the open window.

Sam rolled his eyes in response, but stalked around to the passenger side of the car and climbed inside. The other three crammed themselves into the backseat, and Dean pulled his car away from the curb, driving off towards the street where he and Jayne had left Andy's van.

They were quiet on the ride there. Sam was leaning up against the window, chewing on his knuckles in that nervous way of his. Dean glanced in the rearview mirror at the other three. Lynn was on the edge of her seat, staring down at her lap, and Steve was leaning back, looking more relaxed than he had any right to be. Jayne's eyes were focused on the window, and she was determinedly not looking at any of them.

When they reached the van, Dean tried to park in a hidden space and then clambered out of the car. The other three followed slowly as he headed around the back bumper, opening the trunk and rooting around for a crowbar. Once he had the necessary tool, he led the others towards the van, still parked by the wire fence.

"Not exactly an inconspicuous ride," he offered as they strode up to the van's back doors. Nobody replied. "Let's have a look," he said, pulling the crowbar out of his jacket and glancing around them. When he saw no one was watching, he used to the tool to yank the doors open.

The five of them blinked at the interior of Andy's van as the doors swung open. A shiny silver disco ball hung from the ceiling and a beaded curtain separated the cab from the open cargo space. An air mattress had been set up in the back, with pillows and sheets in varying paisleys. A large picture of a tiger took up the left wall.

"Oh, come on," Dean chuckled appreciatively, taking it all in. "This is magnificent, is what this is. Not exactly a serial killer's lair, though. There are no clown paintings on the walls; no scissors stuck in victims' photos. But the tiger…"

"You guys, I never thought I'd say this," Steve said fondly, eyeing the van's interior as well. "But I think I want a van."

Lynn shushed him and smacked him on the shoulder. Sam ignored all of them, instead concentrating on rifling through the books spread out across the mattress. "Hegel?" he frowned at the book in his hand. "Kant? Wittgenstein? This is some pretty heavy reading, you guys."

"Yeah," Dean drawled, unimpressed as he lifted a two foot long twisty glass masterpiece from the bed. "And Moby Dick's bong."

Jayne leaned heavily on the side of the van door, frowning into the dim hippie pot den. "So," she murmured. "Andy likes philosophy, tacky seventies décor, and pot. This doesn't help us a whole lot. I hope you realize that."

She was looking at him as she said it, and Dean furrowed his brow at her very briefly before pulling his eyes away, slamming the door closest to him and glaring at the pavement. "I say we grab some chow and watch the van," he announced, walking back to where he'd left the Impala.

He heard someone else slam shut the other van door, and then the sounds of footsteps as the other four hunters followed him across the street. The sun had disappeared, and a film of gray had covered the sky. Dean was more angry and annoyed than he wanted to admit. It had somehow become imperative to him that he prove Andrew Gallagher was innocent. He didn't have a good feeling about how; all he knew was that Sam had to meet at least one psychic twenty-something that didn't want to kill everybody he'd ever known. Dean couldn't take anymore of Sam's concern about the demon and its plans; his conviction that all of the demon's children had a potential for darkness, and that Sam himself could be next to go on a killing spree. Sam couldn't think like that; it was a recipe for disaster.

And more importantly, Dean couldn't hear Sam talk like that. He needed proof, not just for Sam, but also for himself, that his brother's theories were wrong, and that Dean didn't need to remember what his father had said to him before he died. Dean didn't need to carry through on his father's last order.

The last order that he promised himself he was not going to heed. He wasn't even going to repeat it. His father was gone, and it hurt like crazy, but Dean would be damned if he let that man's last words get the better of him.

Their father was not right about Sam.

* * *

><p>Sam sat quietly in the passenger seat of his brother's car, reviewing the papers he'd gotten from Ash one more time. Beside him, Dean was forcing down the rest of his burger, making faces as he chewed, and in the backseat sat Jayne, Lynn and Steve, all three of them moving around and muttering things under their breath, clearly bored out of their minds.<p>

The Impala was parked around the corner from Andy's van, concealed by a large, leafy bush. Dean made a final noise of disgust, and then crinkled his burger foil into a ball before tossing it over his shoulder.

"Hey!" Steve barked from the backseat. "Watch it!"

"You know, one day, I'd love to just sit down and eat something I didn't have to microwave in a mini-mart," Dean announced, completely ignoring Steve's complaint.

Sam didn't bother responding or reacting to either man's commentary. His focus was still on the papers Ash had emailed him half an hour earlier on Dr. Jennings, the name of the man that had been run down by the bus. "What I don't get is the motive," he finally spoke up. "I mean, the doctor was squeaky clean. Why would Andy waste him?"

Dean snorted. "If it is Andy."

"Dude, enough," Sam snapped.

"What?"

"The doctor was mind controlled in front of a bus," Sam pointed out, fully fed up. "Andy just happens to have the power of mind control. You do the math."

Dean shook his head. "I just don't think the guy's got it in him, that's all."

"Well, how the hell would you know? Why are you bending over backwards defending him?"

"Because you're not right about this!"

Sam gawked at his brother. Dean shrugged back. Steve groaned in the backseat.

"Holy hell, do you two _always_ argue like this? I swear you haven't shut up the whole time we've been on this job. It's ridiculous! Get a divorce already!"

Both Sam and Dean glared over their shoulders at him. However, Sam wasn't prepared to see Steve's complaints echoed back on his sisters' faces. Lynn was bent over her lap, elbows on her knees, with her face buried in her hands and her fingers fisted in her hair. Jayne was rubbing her temples, cradling her forehead in between her index finger and thumb. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was sprawled back against the seat like she was exhausted or fighting off a migraine.

Steve glared back at them, running his hand over his head. "_Seriously_," he bit out.

"Hey!"

The sudden shout and accompanying knock on the window caused all five of them to jump. Sam swiveled in his seat, finding an irate Andrew Gallagher standing outside his car door.

"You think I haven't seen you?" he demanded through the open window. "Why are you following me?"

Oops.

"Well, we're lawyers," Sam replied easily, sticking to the story they'd told the girl at the diner. "See, a relative of yours has passed away…"

"_Tell the truth_," Andy interrupted, his voice taking on a low, ghostly tone.

Sam blinked at him. "That's what I'm…"

"We hunt demons," Dean said suddenly.

Sam gawked at his brother incredulously. Andy didn't look any less shocked. "What?" he demanded.

"Dean," Sam hissed.

"Demons," Dean repeated. "Spirits. Things your worst nightmares wouldn't even touch."

Andy was still gawking at the two of them, and Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could _not_ believe this. "We know you have freaky mind control powers," Lynn spoke up suddenly in the backseat. Sam whirled around to gawk at her too. "And we've been following you because we want to make sure you haven't been murdering anybody."

"Lynn!" Sam exclaimed.

She winced. "I know! I'm sorry!"

"Sam, here, he's my brother," Dean spoke up.

"Dude, shut up!" Sam exploded.

"I'm trying," Dean replied painfully, and then when right back to addressing Andy. "He's psychic, kind of like you."

"My brother too," Lynn added quickly, hitting Steve on the shoulder. "His name is Steve."

"What the hell?" Steve exclaimed, glaring at her. "Lynn!"

"I said sorry!"

Sam shook his head incredulously.

"They're not really _like_ you," Dean went on. "Exactly."

"Yeah, because Sam actually just has these stupid visions where he sees people dying," Jayne suddenly joined the conversation. Sam glared at her over his shoulder. "And then he whines about it for like the next forty-eight hours."

"Seriously?" Sam asked.

"I tried," Jayne told him, shrugging. "I bit my tongue and everything."

"Steve can start…" Lynn began, but her brother threw his hand over her mouth.

"Lynn, shut the hell up!" he shouted.

Andy was blinking at them all incredulously, looking torn between fear, confusion, and anger. Sam opened his mouth to speak, hoping to gain some semblance of control over the situation, but Dean beat him to the punch.

"So, anyway, we've been following you around because Sam here thinks you're a murderer, and he's afraid he's going to become one himself – and Steve too – because you're all part of something that's terrible, and I hope to hell that he's wrong, but I'm starting to get a little scared that he might be right."

It was a disaster. That was the only word for it. Sam was still shaking his head at his brother, and Lynn and Jayne for that matter. Dean offered Andy a pained grin, and Steve buried his face in his hands and flopped back against the seat.

Andy exhaled heavily, and then bent over, grabbing his knees. He looked ready to fall down. "All right, you know what?" he said. "Just leave me alone."

His voice took on that deep, breathy quality from before. "Ok!" Dean readily agreed, and then he slumped against the car door, his hand over his eyes. Sam frowned at him as Andy stalked away, and then he threw open the passenger door, climbing out of the car.

As Sam stepped onto the curb, Steve opened the back door and clambered out into the street. Sam exchanged a short, understanding look with the other psychic, and then the two of them marched down the street after Andy.

Andy whirled around at the sound of their doors slamming. "What are you doing?" he demanded, backing away with his hands held out defensively in front of him. "Look, I said _leave me alone_. All right? Get out of here! Just start driving and never stop!"

Sam simply shook his head at Andy's attempts to use his powers. The two hunters advanced on the smaller, scrawnier twenty-three year old, backing him into a rusty iron fence that blocked any means of escape. Andy swallowed, his eyes darting from Sam to Steve and back again, clearly recognizing he was outnumbered and out-muscled.

"Doesn't seem to work on us, Andy," Sam said, spelling out the obvious.

Steve smirked, and even Sam had to admit the sight was unsettling. "Tough break," he drawled, stepping into Andy's personal space and effectively trapping the kid against the fence.

Andy moved his mouth without making sounds, looking between the two of them in confusion. "What?" he choked out.

"You can make people do things, can't you?" Sam pressed. "Tell them what to think."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see Dean, Jayne and Lynn climbing out of the Impala, but he waved them off, motioning at them to stay back. Andy laughed nervously, his back against the fence. "I… I… that's crazy."

"It all started about a year ago, didn't it?" Sam demanded. "After you turned twenty-two. Little stuff at first, and then you got better at controlling it."

Andy's hands fisted in his dark, messy hair. Slowly, the fight left his shoulders, and he dropped his hands at his sides again. "How do you know all this?"

"Because we've been where you are," Steve spoke up, his gray eyes narrowed and hard on Andy's face. "It happened to us too. Of course, we didn't go around killing people with it – that's all you, buddy."

Andy's mouth fell open. "Wait, I… _killing people_… but I didn't!"

"Save it," Steve snapped, resting his hand on the fence by Andy's head. He leaned threateningly towards the other man, the corner of his lip quirking upwards into an ugly sneer. "We know what you've been up to, amigo. And now we got to put you down."

Sam blinked, frowning at Steve. The other hunter pulled back his leather jacket and reached inside, flashing his gun at the freaked out psychic. Sam lunged forward, grabbing Steve by the shoulder and jerking him back.

"Dude," he hissed. "Put that away!"

"You know what? Just… just _get out of here!_ All right?" Andy exploded. Sam could hear the pitch of his voice change again as he attempted to use his powers yet another time. Andy darted off to the side, trying to duck around a camper parked nearby. Sam let go of Steve and jogged after him, easily cutting Andy off and trapping him by the fence again.

"Why did you tell the doctor to walk in front of a bus?" Sam demanded.

Sam didn't anticipate Andy's reaction. The young man's face had been twisted up with anger and confusion, but now all of that just faded away. His mouth hung open, and he stared at Sam in shock. "What?" he asked quietly, his voice almost catching.

Sudden pain cut across his forehead. Sam winced, squeezing his eyes shut, faltering as the migraine burned its way through his skull. Images flashed across the backs of his eyelids – a blonde woman at a gas pump, a sudden raging fire…

He wrenched his eyes open, blinking against the painfully bright sunlight. Andy was staring at him incredulously, and even Steve was now frowning at Sam in concern.

"You all right?" he asked slowly, raising an eyebrow.

Sam ignored the question and tried to focus on Andy. "Why did you kill him?" he pressed. Andy just kept gawking at him.

"I didn't!" he protested.

The pain cut through his head once again, and Sam had to shut his eyes against the sun. The blonde woman was at the gas station again, pulling the nozzle from the pump and sliding it into her huge black SUV. As Sam spied on her, her cell phone rang.

"Hello?" she asked, smiling. As she listened to the voice on the other end, her smile faded and her face got serious. Her eyes went blank. "Sure," she said. "I can do that."

Then she hung up the phone and pulled the nozzle of out her gas tank. She started spraying herself down with the gasoline, drenching herself from head to toe in the strong-smelling stuff. Once she'd saturated her long black coat, she lifted the nozzle above her head and soaked her blonde hair in gasoline.

A gas station attendant finally noticed what she was doing. "Hey!" he shouted as she tossed the nozzle aside and reached into her car. "Lady, what are you doing?"

She emerged from her car with a lighter in hand. "It's going to be ok," she assured the attendant.

Then she lit the lighter and exploded into flames.

Sam opened his eyes again, the vision over, and stumbled to the side, clutching his aching head in his hands. "Whoa!" he heard Steve exclaim nearby. He saw the other man's boots approaching him. Someone grabbed Sam from behind, trying to steady him, but Sam crumbled onto the pavement anyway.

"Sam?" he heard his brother ask, and assumed it was Dean trying to keep him upright. "What is it?"

"I didn't do anything to him!" Sam heard Andy speak up.

"A woman," Sam panted. "A woman burning alive."

Dean crouched down on the pavement beside him, gripping his shoulder. Sam looked up as a shadow crossed the ground beside him and found Lynn at his side, getting down on her knees and brushing some hair out of his face.

"What else you get?" Dean demanded.

"A gas station. A woman is going to kill herself."

"What's he mean going to?"Andy demanded, sputtering. "What… what is he talking about…?"

"Shut up!" Dean snapped.

Sam forced his eyes to stay open, and lifted his aching head, frowning at Andy, who had also crouched down on the pavement nearby. Steve was still standing upright, squinting at Sam, and Jayne was hovering beside Lynn, who was still kneeling at Sam's side. Dean watched him closely, worry evident on his face. "She gets triggered by a call on her cell phone," Sam announced, his hard eyes directed at Andy. Slowly, he stumbled up on his feet with Dean and Lynn's help. "But if we keep our eyes on this son of a bitch, he can't hurt her."

Andy looked fully exasperated by this point. "I didn't hurt anybody!"

"Yeah, not yet," Sam scoffed.

He glared at the other psychic. Andy frowned at him, but Sam wasn't buying the confused, frustrated look on the guy's face. Neither was Steve, by the looks of it. Steve was standing close to Andy, his arms folded threateningly over his chest as he watched every move the kid made with hard, dangerous eyes.

As if on cue, a large red fire truck drove past their dead-end alleyway, its lights flashing and its siren wailing. All six of them watched, stunned, as the emergency vehicle drove on by. Sam exchanged a look with his brother. "Go," he replied to Dean's silent question.

Dean took off running. Jayne nodded at Lynn and Steve before chasing after him. Lynn looked a little torn, but ultimately stayed where she was, although she was clearly uncomfortable as she lurked by the camper, watching Andy distrustfully. Andy tried to move off in the same direction as Jayne and Dean had, but Sam blocked his exit.

"No, not you," he ordered. "You're staying here with us."

Andy made that same confused, exasperated face again, and huffed. Sam just kept standing in his way, watching him carefully. Steve stepped up then, his one hand hovering over his jacket where he kept the gun. Andy swallowed as Steve moved closer to him, and took a step back. The shorter man kept walking forward threateningly, and Andy took a few more steps backward, clearly intimidated.

"Steve," Sam murmured warningly. "You don't have to…"

"Don't have to what?" Steve cut him off, venom in his voice. "Pull my gun? Shoot him in the street?"

Andy swallowed noticeably once again, and took another step back. He hit the chain-link fence again and froze against it, not daring to move.

"Well, yeah," Sam returned in a low voice. "You _don't_ have to do that."

"Maybe not," Steve conceded. "Not yet, anyway."

Andy stared wide-eyed at Steve. Sam frowned, slightly concerned about Steve's intentions towards the other psychic. True, Sam had been adamant that Andy was guilty and had to be stopped before he could kill any more innocent people, but Andy was also still human and Sam wasn't prepared to kill him just yet. Steve looked just a little too trigger happy for Sam's liking.

"Steve," Lynn spoke up by the camper, still keeping her distance. Clearly, she thought Andy might try something, using her susceptibility to his gift in order to get out of this situation. "Stand down, all right? You're scaring the poor guy."

"Good," Steve replied smoothly. Lynn rolled her eyes.

"What if he's telling the truth?" she asked. "What if he didn't do anything?"

Steve snorted. "Sorry, Lynn, but I really don't see how that's possible. Sam? What do you think?"

Lynn turned big, hopeful brown eyes on him. Sam looked away, swallowing hard, and slowly shook his head. "He's right, Lynn. It's just not possible."

He heard her sigh in exasperation. Andy looked between the three of them, his eyes still wide and frightened. Another frustrated little huff escaped his throat. "I can't believe this," he muttered under his breath.

"Shut up," Steve barked.

All four of them fell silent. There was nothing but the sounds of birds and insects in the nearby shrubs, and the distant wail of the fire sirens. Sam shuffled his sneakers in the dusty road, and stared at Andy some more, determined to keep him from hurting anybody else. Steve was still hovering over Andy too, and Andy was staring at the ground, resigned to his predicament.

Lynn had her back on the camper and her arms folded over her chest. They stood there too long and too quiet, the summer sun beating down on their backs. A small doubt about what he was doing wormed its way into Sam's mind, but he quickly pushed it back, reminding himself that Andy had to be the culprit. There could be no one else.

No matter how frustrated and confused Andrew Gallagher looked.

* * *

><p>The Impala sped up the road, its engine roaring, chasing down the fire engine. Jayne sat in the passenger seat, her eyes focused determinedly on the back end of the bright red vehicle in front of them. Dean was at the wheel, keeping pace with the speeding truck. The farther they drove up the road, the stronger the stench got.<p>

Yes, there was a definite stench in the air. Jayne crinkled her nose as the smell of smoke and gasoline assaulted her nostrils. There was something else too… something sharp and strong and all too familiar. She coughed, covering her nose and mouth with her hand.

"You all right?" Dean asked.

"Fantastic," she drawled, choking back another cough. "You don't smell that shit?"

"Oh, I smell it," Dean retorted. "You recognize that, right?"

She nodded and he let the subject drop. It was no use saying what they both already knew – they smelled burning human flesh. Build a pyre for a hunter or two, and the stench permanently engrained itself into one's memory.

The fire truck roared its way into a gas station parking lot. Dean drove on by and pulled into a drugstore lot just down the road. A huge cloud of thick black smoke was blotting out the blue sky, and Jayne could see tall, bright orange flames licking at a black SUV.

Both she and Dean clambered out of the car and jogged as close to the gas station fire as the emergency crew would let them get. Jayne frowned at the scene. The red brick gas station was untouched, but the SUV, the nearby gas pump, and a suspiciously human shaped blob were all engulfed in the huge, roaring fire. She shook her head, swallowing hard and folding her arms over her chest. Dean stood next to her, staring at the fire too, silent and with his jaw locked tight. She glanced at him, but Dean ignored her, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. As she watched him, he dialed Sam's number.

"Hey, it's me," he said into the phone after a moment. "She's dead. Burned up, just like you said."

There was another pause. "Like ten seconds before I got here," Dean replied to his brother's comment on the other end. "The smell hasn't even cleared yet. What's up with your visions, man? This wasn't even a head start."

Dean was silent for a moment as Sam made his excuses. Jayne raised her eyebrow at him, taking in the tension in his shoulders and the annoyed crease between his eyebrows. Finally, he sighed. "Look, you were with Andy when this whole thing went down," he told Sam. "So it can't be him. It's got to be someone else."

There was another pause. "Well, I'll dig around here," Dean said after a moment. "See what else I can find."

He hung up on his brother. Jayne stared at him, and he met her eyes. She raised her eyebrow again. "Feel better?" she asked dryly.

Dean made a face at her. Then he turned around and stared at the fire again. Jayne glanced at the scene as well, and the two of them lapsed into silence. After a moment, Dean stepped over the caution tape.

Immediately, the cops were on him. "Sir, you have to stay behind the line," one of them said.

Dean flashed his fake state police badge, and shut the officer up. "You got any leads on who the victim is?" he asked abruptly.

"Uh… no… detective," the beat cop stuttered. "She's just… well the fire destroyed…"

"You run the plates yet?" Dean demanded.

"Uh… no…"

"Why don't you get on that?" Dean smirked.

Jayne rolled her eyes. The cop nodded quickly, still stuttering, and headed over to his patrol vehicle. Dean grinned at her, all too pleased with himself, and she raised her eyebrow at him in annoyance.

They lurked awkwardly around the yellow tape for several minutes, not talking to one another while the beat cop ran the SUV's plates. Finally, just as Jayne was starting to feel uncomfortable enough to try making conversation, the officer returned.

"The SUV belongs to a woman named Holly Beckett, 41, unmarried and native to the area," the cop recited. "That's all I've got on her so far, Detective."

Dean shared a look with Jayne over the cop's head. "That's fine," Dean grunted at the other man, trying to sound authoritative. He failed. "Good work."

Jayne shook her head and rolled her eyes again, turning her back on Dean and stalking back towards the Impala. Moments later she heard Dean running up behind her. He sidled up alongside her and kept her pace back to the car. "We should call Ash," she told him. "I'll bet he can dig up plenty of dirt on this Holly Beckett chick."

"Yeah, sure," Dean murmured noncommittally.

They made it back to the parking lot where they'd left the car, and Jayne threw open the passenger side door. As she took her seat in the car, Dean slid behind the steering wheel. Their doors slammed almost simultaneously.

Dean heaved a sigh and pulled his phone out of his coat again. He glanced at Jayne, and she frowned back at him. "Want to call?" he asked, holding out the phone.

"No," she retorted. "You do it."

He snickered. "What's the problem, Goldilocks? You don't want to talk to your new boyfriend?"

She sneered. "What's _your_ problem? Afraid if you call the Roadhouse, Jo's going to pick up the phone?"

Dean faltered at that. She felt a brief moment of triumph, which was quickly followed by regret. "Whatever," Dean muttered, dialing a number into the phone.

She folded her arms over her chest and knocked her head back against the seat. What the hell were they doing anyway?

"Hey," Dean said into the phone, chuckling slightly. "Ash. It's Dean. I was wondering if you could look something up for me." Dean paused briefly. "A woman from Guthrie, Oklahoma. Holly Beckett, 41."

Jayne slumped in her seat and glared at the ceiling. Dean was quiet for a moment. "Just great, Ash," he said suddenly. "What about you?"

There was another pause as Ash answered the question. After a while, Dean laughed nervously. "Jayne's fine."

Jayne raised her eyebrow and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Dean gave another nervous chuckle. "Well, uh… that's… awkward…"

Another pause, followed by more uncomfortable laughter. "Yeah, well… tell you what, Ash. I'm just going to hang up now. When you got something, you can call me back. All right?"

Whatever Ash said in response to that made Dean lose his smirk and glower at the dashboard. "Just find out what you can about this woman, all right?" he snapped. "Good bye."

He hung up the phone with unnecessary force and tossed it at the cup-holder. Jayne slowly turned to him, both eyebrows now rising up towards her hairline. "So…" she murmured. "What did Ash have to say?"

"Nothing I'm going to repeat," Dean returned shortly. He started the engine, and then turned up the volume on the car radio. Jayne looked out the window, lips pursed.

"Ok…" she muttered.

They sat in silence, listening to the local classic rock station, waiting for Ash to call them back.

* * *

><p>Lynn frowned at Sam's back as he paced the dusty alleyway, on his cell phone and arguing with Dean. She was still leaning up against the rusted, abandoned camper with her arms folded over her chest, keeping her distance from Andy, and eyeing him with distrust. She kept expecting him to say a command that would screw with her head and get him the hell out of this situation.<p>

But Andy didn't do anything. He just stalked over to an equally rusty, probably abandoned orange pickup truck and flopped down in the bed, where he sat pouting like a kid in timeout.

Steve hovered over the edge of the truck bed, his gray eyes narrowed and hard as they scrutinized Andy. He wasn't letting the kid out of his sight; he wasn't giving Andy a chance to make a move. In all honesty, his sudden grim determination was creeping her out.

"When?" Sam asked into the phone, his voice low and gravelly. There was no way Dean had called to give them good news.

Steve met Lynn's eye across the alleyway and he cocked his eyebrow, conveying exactly what she had already been thinking. "I don't know, all right?" Sam said, sounding annoyed. "I can't control them. I don't know what the hell is going on."

There was a brief pause, and then Sam scrunched up his forehead, looking confused. "But that doesn't make any sense."

Dean must have hung up after that, because a few moments later Sam was hanging up his phone too. He frowned at Andy, and then he glanced at her. She widened her eyes and took a step out from the shade of the camper, into the bright sunlight.

"She died," he announced.

Lynn flinched ever so slightly and lowered her eyes to her boots. "What do you mean, she died?" Steve demanded, taking a step away from Andy and towards Sam. "We did everything we were supposed to – we watched this asshole, we sent Jaynie and Dean after the chick… you trying to tell me that this kid somehow killed her anyway?"

Sam shook his head and tucked his phone into his coat pocket. "Look, I don't know," he replied. "Maybe Andy's been telling us the truth, after all."

Andy looked up hopefully, but quailed under the glower that Steve sent him in response. "So what then?" he snapped at Sam. "We have _two_ psychic freaks running around town with the power of mind control?"

"Hey!" Andy protested.

"I don't know!" Sam snapped back at Steve. "Maybe!"

"Everybody shut up!" Lynn barked.

All three men turned to blink at her in shock. Lynn took a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyeing each of the three psychics in turn.

"Look, obviously Andy couldn't have killed that woman," she said.

"Obviously," Andy added with no small amount of annoyance. Lynn gave him the iciest glare she could muster, and he quickly closed his mouth.

"So… let's just talk this out, ok?" she suggested. "There has to be some way to figure out what's going on here."

Sam frowned and stared at the pavement, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. Andy sighed and examined his knees. Steve rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, slumping against the side of the abandoned pickup. Nobody spoke.

"Excellent start, guys," Lynn snapped. "Seriously? All right, Steve, you first. Tell everybody about your powers."

"_You_ tell everyone about _your_ powers," Steve snapped back.

Lynn glared at him. "I don't _have_ powers."

"Well, that's no reason to volunteer _me_ for this share circle crap. I ain't telling nobody nothing – _especially _not some stranger who may or may not be a serial killer."

"I'm not a serial killer!" Andy protested. "Come on, already!"

"Steve," Lynn murmured, giving him pleading eyes. Steve looked away defiantly and refused to say another word. She rolled her eyes. "Fine, then. Sam?"

Sam looked up at her, startled. Lynn rolled her eyes again. Sam shrugged and looked at Andy. "I have these nightmares," he offered. "And they come true."

"We covered that already, thanks," Andy retorted.

Sam looked at Lynn like he expected her to do something. She sighed and walked up to the abandoned pickup. Andy watched her warily. "Look," she said to him, stopping directly in front of him. "I think it's pretty obvious here that we might have jumped to conclusions."

"Really," Andy retorted dryly.

"Shut up," she ordered, leveling a warning finger with his nose. "At the same time, as unfair as our jumping to conclusions might have been, let's not ignore the fact that you have creepy mind control powers, and somebody has been going around this town using mind control powers to kill people. So… I'd say our leap seemed pretty logical at the time."

Andy just stared at her. Lynn sighed again. "Anyway," she went on. "We're sorry. But…"

"You get these premonitions of people about to die?" Andy interrupted her suddenly, focusing his frown on Sam.

Lynn blinked, surprised and, in all honesty, rather offended by the interruption. She glanced at her brother, who tried to cover his smirk with his hand. Obviously, he found her silent, openmouthed indignation very amusing. She glared at him momentarily, and then looked back over at Sam and Andy.

Sam had pulled a large white bucket over to the edge of the rusty pickup and now he was taking a seat. He nodded at Andy instead of replying to the other man's question. Andy shook his head, and a short, disbelieving chuckle escaped his throat. "Dude, that's impossible."

Sam raised his eyebrow. "A lot of people would say that about what _you_ do."

Andy tucked his chin, absorbing that. "Death visions," he repeated after a while.

Sam nodded again. "Yeah."

"Dude, that sucks!"

It did suck. Sam looked away, but Andy kept going. "Like, when I got my mind thing? It was like a gift, you know? It was like I won the lotto."

"But you still live in a van," Sam pointed out.

Andy frowned like he didn't understand. Lynn raised her eyebrow at both of them, slowly folding her arms over her chest.

"I don't get it," Sam clarified. "I mean, you can have anything you ever wanted."

Andy stared at the pavement for a moment, and then he shrugged, like Sam's observation didn't make any sense. "I mean… but…" he smirked at Sam, shaking his head. "I have everything I need."

Sam stared at him, incredulous, and Lynn couldn't help doing the same. Steve snorted almost imperceptibly and looked away. It was an odd thing to think – it was an odd thing even for someone who _didn't _have mind control powers to say. Since when was life about _just _having everything you needed? What about what Andy wanted? What about…

"So you're really not a killer, huh?" Sam asked Andy.

Andy laughed. "That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

Sam nodded, laughing a little too. "That's good," he said. "Maybe there's hope for all of us."

Lynn tucked her chin, silently staring at the ground. She wasn't sure what to make of Sam's comments; she didn't like hearing him say that kind of stuff. Steve rolled his eyes beside her.

"Great," he drawled. "Glad that little moment is over. It was nice to finally talk things out. Now back to the real issue at hand – who else in this town could do what you do, Andy?"

Lynn tensed at her younger brother's attitude. Andy frowned at him. "But we didn't really talk things out," he said. "I still don't know what you can do."

Steve glared at him. Andy laughed nervously. "I mean… you know all about me, man," he pointed out in a friendly tone that did nothing to conceal his obvious anxiety. "So… give it up. What's your bag?"

Steve scoffed at the other psychic. "None of your damn business."

"Steve," Lynn chided him gently, shaking her head. "Come on, we know about him. He knows about Sam. It only seems fair."

"I don't give a damn."

Before she could reprimand him again, or simply tell Andy all about Steve despite her brother's protests, Dean's Impala wheeled into the alleyway and rolled to a stop near the rusty pickup. The four of them glanced at the old black car, watching warily as the engine died and Jayne and Dean climbed out of the vehicle. Sam got off the bucket and Andy hopped down from the pickup, both of them approaching the car.

"Victim's name was Holly Beckett, 41, single," Dean announced, coming around the Impala's front end.

"Who is she?" Sam asked Andy.

Andy looked up at him in bewilderment. "No idea."

"Called Ash on the way over here," Dean went on. "He came up with a little something. Apparently, Holly Beckett gave birth when she was eighteen years old, back in 1983. Same day you were born, Andy."

Lynn blinked at that announcement, making eye contact with her sister over Andy's head. Jayne shrugged at her, leaning up against the Impala's bumper with her arms folded over her chest. Steve was still hanging back by the wire fence, looking mutinous.

Sam frowned at Andy. "Andy, were you adopted?"

Andy was still looking pretty baffled. "Well… yeah…"

"You were?" Dean demanded. "And you neglected to mention that?"

The newest psychic addition to their little group frowned incredulously at Dean, shrugging. "Never really came up," he retorted. "I mean… I never knew my birth parents, and like you said my adopted mom died when I was a baby… Do you… do you think this Holly woman could actually be…?"

"I don't know," Dean interrupted. "We tried to get a copy of the birth records, but they're hard copy only – sealed in the county office."

Lynn frowned at that, casting a sidelong look at Andy. There was actually a very easy way around that problem, and he was standing two feet to her left. Still, it seemed wrong somehow to just come out and ask.

But apparently Andy didn't need asking. He just shrugged at Dean's information, replying easily, "Well, screw that."

It wasn't easy squeezing the six of them into the Impala. Lynn ended up on her sister's lap – the ever so annoying consequence of being the shortest person there. Once they were all arranged in the back of the car – Jayne looking annoyed, Lynn feeling annoyed, Andy looking nervous and Steve glaring steadily out the window – Sam and Dean clambered into the front, and then the car took off down the road.

It'd be a lot easier on all of them if Steve would drop the attitude and try working with the new psychic, but Lynn knew he wouldn't. She didn't understand why; she simply knew that he wouldn't do it. And that was seriously frustrating.

But, hell… what else was new?

* * *

><p>Dean guided the Impala along the main road into downtown Guthrie, his eyes scanning the passing buildings for the county records sat in the passenger seat beside him, poking at his injured hand and keeping his eyes on his shoes. Andy was in the back, leaning into the front seat over the console, commenting every once in a while on his current bizarre situation.<p>

He'd dropped Jayne, Lynn and Steve off at the motel on the way because his baby had gotten way too crowded. Now Jayne's pickup and Steve's Roadrunner were following along behind him, because Steve had gotten stubborn and insisted on taking his own car.

Pain in the ass punk kid.

Andy was still babbling in the backseat, but Dean tuned him out. They'd reached the records office, and Dean parallel-parked outside the large, historic building, his wheels against the curb. Jayne guided her truck into a nearby space, and Steve circled around the back of the building, spinning out his tires on purpose as he took the turn too fast, his engine still roaring in Dean's ears long after the car disappeared from sight.

He shut down the engine and clambered out onto the sidewalk. It was getting late in the afternoon, and most of the foot traffic was heading away from the office, with workers anxious to get home hurrying down the large, sweeping front steps. Sam and Andy slammed their doors as they got out of the car too, joining him at the bottom of the steps. Seconds later, Jayne and Lynn appeared just behind them, and the five of them wordlessly climbed the steps and ducked into the building. Mere moments later, Steve walked in briskly through a side entrance, and the six of them met up at the front desk.

It turned out to be _very_ easy to get into the county records office with Andy playing for their team. In fact, it made Dean almost wish Sam had gotten some more useful powers than just plain old death visions – _almost_. With only mild amounts of persuasion, Andy convinced the security guard to lead the six of them right down to the sealed records room.

Andy kept talking gently to the short, white haired guard as the rest of them set up shop around the dimly lit room. Dean pulled a heavy cardboard box off a nearby shelf. "I probably shouldn't have let you kids in here," the guard fretted as Andy steered him towards the door.

"No, it will all be fine, Leonard. Just go get a cup of coffee, all right?" Andy reassured him, before changing his voice to sound somewhat like Obi-Wan Kenobi. "These aren't the droids you're looking for."

Dean cackled in spite of himself. "Awesome."

Lynn shot him a dirty look over the file folder in her hands, and Dean mentally rolled his eyes, preparing himself for a long explanation of how mind control was not cool under any circumstances. It didn't come. Leonard left the room, Andy rejoined them all at the room's sole, small square table, and Sam announced, "I think I've got it."

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

Dean plopped his box on the table. Sam was sitting across the table and he looked up at the sound of the box landing on the hard surface. Lynn was sitting to his right, although she was no longer side-eyeing him, and Jayne turned away from the shelf she was currently browsing with her eyebrows knitted together, watching Sam expectantly.

Andy sat down heavily in the chair beside Sam. Dean snuck a look at Steve, who didn't look remotely interested in what Sam was about to say. The kid was leaning against the far wall, as far away from the rest of them as he could get without actually leaving the room. He'd done nothing to assist in the search through the records. Now his arms were folded confrontationally across his chest and he was glowering at table where the rest of them were gathered.

Dean shook his head in annoyance and turned his back on the brat. Sam ignored Steve completely and instead focused on Andy. "Andy, it's true. Holly Beckett was your birth mother."

Andy stared at the file in question, and chortled slightly. "Does anyone have a Vicodin?"

Dean eyed the kid cautiously, waiting for a reaction that was a bit more emotional and lot more awkward. He didn't get one, and so Dean relaxed, relieved.

"Dr. Jennings was her doctor too," Sam went on. "I mean, he oversaw the adoption… you have a solid connection to both of them."

"Yeah, but I didn't kill them," Andy protested.

"We believe you," Dean assured him.

Sam looked up at him in surprise. Somewhere behind him, Steve snorted bitterly. Dean ignored him, catching Jayne's eye over Sam's head. She twitched her lips into what could have been a smile if it had lived to grow up. Then she lowered her eyes, watching Andy and Sam warily.

"Of course we believe you," Lynn added, setting aside the folder she'd been looking through.

"Yeah," Sam added, although he didn't sound as convinced. Dean wasn't sure what his problem was, why he was being weird about Andy's obvious innocence. Sam was just being stubborn – although not nearly as stubborn as Steve.

"But who did?" Dean murmured, frowning at the tabletop.

"I think I've got a pretty good guess," Sam announced. "Holly Beckett gave birth to twins."

Dean blinked, standing up on his own two feet rather than leaning on the table. Jayne frowned, pushing herself off the shelf. Lynn sat up straighter in her chair and grabbed hold of Sam's reading material, yanking it towards her. There was a long, shocked silence.

Dean stared at Andy, and Andy stared, open-mouthed, at the file Lynn was reading. Finally, Steve unfolded his arms from across his chest and took a few steps away from the wall. "Wait," he spoke up, breaking the silence. Everyone turned to stare at him. "So… there really _is_ another mind-controlling psychic freak running around?"

Sam shrugged at him. "Apparently."

"Oh, fuck it, I'm having one," Steve said, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and lighting up.

"Steve!" Lynn exclaimed.

"Oh, whatever," he scoffed at her. "I caught you with one just last night!"

Lynn instantly shut up, her eyes going wide. "Lynn!" Jayne scolded her.

"Oh, don't even," Lynn retorted. "I know you stole some from my pack; I counted."

It was Jayne's turn to look caught in the headlights. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The stench of cigarette smoke filled the tiny file room, and Dean glowered over his shoulder at Steve, who was inhaling deeply on his Marlboro. "You know, if you're going to smoke in here, you could at least bum me one," Lynn reprimanded him.

Steve slid his lighter into the flimsy cardboard pack and tossed it at her. "Here."

Lynn caught it in both hands and went about fishing out the lighter. Andy turned his wide, shocked eyes on her instead of the table. "Any chance I could get one of those?" he asked.

"Guys," Dean snapped, gritting his teeth. "No smoking inside the tiny room."

"Bite me," Steve retorted, blowing smoke in his direction.

Sam coughed slightly, squinting through the smoke cloud. Jayne rolled her eyes and fished her cell phone out of her pocket, along with a stolen police badge. "Calling the DMV," she grunted at them, and then she ambled off towards the far side of the room, muttering into her phone.

Andy was suddenly very intent on lighting the cigarette Lynn had just handed him. Dean watched him curiously, eyebrow raised, while Sam simply got to his feet and moved away from the secondhand smoke, pacing the room in agitation. He took the file with him, frowning at it.

There was a long moment of silence. Andy took a tentative drag on his cigarette and leaned back in his chair, one arm going up and resting on the top of his head. Dean watched him, waiting for more of a reaction.

"I have an evil twin," the kid murmured faintly.

Dean smirked. Sam stopped his pacing and glanced at Andy before returning to the file in his hands and reading more of it aloud. "Holly put you and your brother up for adoption," he told Andy, who barely even looked up. "You went to the Gallagher family, obviously, and your brother went to the Weams family from upstate."

The fax machine in the corner began to whir and beep. Dean sauntered over, anticipating some sort of information being sent over from the DMV since Jayne had just made a call to the local branch. He glanced at Andy, who was staring silently at the tabletop, stunned.

"Hey, Andy, how you doing?" he asked. "Still with us?"

Andy sat up straighter in his chair and put out his cigarette on the cheap Formica table. "Um… what was my brother's name?"

Sam looked down at the file in his hands. "Yeah, um… Anson Weams?"

Dean frowned at Andy, who just looked blank. "Never heard of him?" Lynn asked gently.

Andy shook his head. "He has a local address," Sam informed him.

"Wait… he lives _here_?" Andy exclaimed.

The fax machine got louder then, and Dean looked back down at it, seeing a sheet of paper feed its way through the printer. "Well, let's get a look at him," he announced, grabbing the papers as the machine spit them out. "There's a fax coming over from the DMV right now."

Right on cue, Jayne reappeared from behind one of the file-bearing shelving units. "Got it?" she asked.

Dean nodded at her, and she rejoined the group around the table. Even Steve came over to look at the picture of the Weams kid, but not before putting his cigarette out on the wall and flicking the butt into the trash can.

The face staring up at Dean threw him. Shocked, he stared down at the picture of the familiar young kid, immediately remembering him from earlier that day. Andy looked up at him expectantly, while Jayne crowded in beside him, frowning over his shoulder at the picture.

Dean blinked, and shook his head. "Hate to kick you while you're freaked," he told Andy. "But, uh… take a look at that."

He handed the photo over, and Andy took it loosely between his fingers, his eyes betraying his anticipation. The kid took one look at the picture in his hands, and then he turned huge, shocked eyes up at Dean.

"What?" Lynn asked immediately, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Who is it?"

She didn't get an answer right away. Clearly not keen on waiting, Steve simply reached over the table and pried the paper loose from Andy's hand. He frowned down at the picture and then a low whistle escaped his lips.

"Holy hell," he whispered.

Andy shook his head with a small, scoffing laugh.

"Webber."

* * *

><p>It didn't take long after discovering that the busboy from the diner, Webber, was Andy's biological twin brother, for the six of them to clear out of the county records office and get back on the road. By the time they stepped out of the building, however, night had already fallen and they had to make their way back in the dark.<p>

Sam felt inexplicably queasy as he sat in the passenger seat of his brother's car, watching the road whiz by and listening to Dean and Andy, who was in the backseat, discuss Webber.

He could see Jayne's truck in the side mirror, following closely behind them, and behind the truck was Steve's bright orange car, still loud and conspicuous even in the pitch black of night. Sam frowned at the small portion of the Roadrunner that he could see in the mirror, finding himself unsure about Steve's presence in all this. At first, it had seemed liked a decent plan; Steve was Lynn and Jayne's family, as well as a fellow psychic, despite the fact that he didn't get along so well with Dean _or_ Sam. Now, after the scene with Andy in the alleyway, Sam wasn't so sure about the guy. He'd been so quick to draw on Andy, so quick to decide that killing was the only option. As uncomfortable as it made him, Sam had to admit that the real reason it threw him was the fact that he feared he would end up like Steve – that _all _of the yellow-eyed demon's special children would end up like Max and Landon and Webber.

If he and Steve could be so comfortable ending lives – even if those lives were the ones of monsters – then how far did they really _need_ to be pushed before they started killing people – _kids_ – like Andy?

The whole thing was giving him a killer headache. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing his temples, and tried to listen to the conversation around him. "All right, Andy," he announced, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Tell us everything you know about this guy."

Andy shrugged, leaning his elbows on the Impala's front seats. "Well… I mean, not much. Webber shows up one day… eight months ago? Acting like he's my best friend in the world. Kind of weird… like trying too hard? You know?"

"He must have known you guys were twins," Dean offered from the driver's seat. "But why did he change his name? Why not just tell you the truth?"

The headache was getting worse. Sam flinched, rubbing his temples again.

"No idea," Andy muttered in response to Dean.

The ache in Sam's head increased suddenly, sending a sharp, splitting pain through his skull. Sam cried out, rocking back in his seat, and clutched the sides of his head.

"Sam?" Dean demanded.

The road in front of them disappeared with a blinding flash, and all Sam could see were bright streetlamps and the shadow of a woman falling. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran his hand over his face, trying to refocus his vision. The road and the Impala reappeared, but the pain didn't fade. He grabbed his forehead, trying to fight the vision off, but it came anyway. The flashes turned into solid images, and then the road was gone again.

He saw a bridge, high above a dam. It was nighttime, and powerful lights were shining down on the street that stretched over the rushing water. Tracy, the young blonde woman from the diner, walked barefoot across the pavement, wearing only her slip. Her lip was trembling, and her eyes were wide and wet. She was clearly terrified.

Tracy crossed in front of a rusted, grayish blue beater, probably an ancient Buick, and then stepped up onto the bridge's thick cement railing, staring down into the gorge. The water rushed out of pipes and down the deep, rocky ravine, pooling into a calm, deep lake thousands of feet below. Tracy looked over her shoulder at the old car parked on the bridge and let out a sob.

Sam could see the steep, cement drop off under the bridge – the dam. He looked up and over to the bridge again. Tracy had climbed all the way onto the railing and was standing with her arms raised, poised to jump. His stomach clenched. There was a brief moment where everything froze and Tracy simply stood on the rail, the bright lights shining behind and around her.

Then Tracy was falling, falling, falling, towards the dark water below.


	9. Blue on Black

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to angeleyenc, ColtFan165, SPN Mum, Guest, AshlynPaige92, HeartofBruce, Guest, ThreeMoons3, Spelllesswonder29, Kat, LoveyAnne and Buxom Bard for all the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 9: Blue on Black<p>

The truck was silent, save for the quiet strains of Janis Joplin songs coming from the cassette deck. Neither Lynn nor Jayne had spoken since leaving the county office and taking off down the dark road. Normally, her sister's silence would annoy the crap out of Lynn, but at the moment she wasn't much in the mood for talking either.

She stared out the window at the thick trees lining the dark road. The sky was clouded over, and Lynn couldn't see the moon or the stars. Every once in a while, an eerie green streetlamp would appear, brightening a small spot of pavement.

Her sister shifted slightly on the bench seat and tapped her finger against the steering wheel, keeping time with the song on the radio. Lynn glanced briefly at her, and then looked up into the rearview mirror. Her brother's car was following close behind them, and just up ahead of them was the Impala.

It was a small relief, knowing that Andy hadn't killed anyone – that except for his supernatural ability, he was a normal, twenty-something hobo. But that didn't change how his brother was anything but normal – Anson Weams, or Webber, or whoever he was, had used his gift to murder innocent people.

Suddenly, the Impala's brakes squealed, and the car veered sharply off onto the shoulder, jerking to a stop. The engine shut down immediately. Lynn's eyes went wide and she sat up straighter on the edge of her seat as her sister swore, and pulled over behind the Impala. Dean was already climbing out of the driver's seat and racing around the front of the car. Sam's door swung open before Dean reached it, and Sam stumbled halfway out into the street.

Steve's car braked behind the truck. Lynn exchanged a short look with her sister before both she and Jayne hopped down from Janis' cab and hurried over to the Impala. "Hey!" she could hear Dean barking at his brother, shaking him by the shoulder. "Hey! Sam!"

Lynn reached the car before her sister and leaned on the open passenger door, peering at Sam through the open window. "What happened?" she demanded.

Dean looked up at her and shrugged. Jayne arrived on the scene mere seconds later, and Steve jogged up right after her. Andy, still sitting in the backseat, looked from Sam, to Dean, to the other three, and back, clearly not sure what was happening or what to do about it. Sam frowned up at everyone and took a deep breath. "It's Webber," he told them. "He's going after the hostess, from the diner. Andy, where's the nearest dam?"

Andy blinked at him. "Tracy?" he asked, ignoring Sam's question. "He's going after Tracy?"

"Hey, Andy, focus," Dean ordered, glancing at the other psychic. "Where's the dam?"

Andy gave his head a small shake. "Uh… the other side of town… I can get you there, but… wait, what's going to happen to _Tracy_?"

"He's going to make her jump," Sam informed them, his voice too steady. "We have to hurry."

Dean ran back around to the driver's seat. Andy looked even more panicked than he had before. Lynn watched, wide-eyed, as Sam got back in the car and closed his door. When she glanced at her brother and sister, she found both of them were already returning to their cars.

She jogged after Jayne. They didn't say much as they clambered into the cab, and Jayne was silent as she started the truck and drove off down the road after the Impala. A quick glance in the side mirror revealed Steve's car following close behind them again. Lynn sighed and flopped back against the seat. She couldn't help staring worriedly after Dean's car.

Jayne glanced briefly at her, responding to the sigh, and then returned her eyes to the road. Lynn stared at the Impala some more, playing nervously with her hair. She bit her lower lip, and then looked at Jayne out the corner of her eye.

Her sister didn't seem to notice. Lynn took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. "You ever notice that every time Sam has a vision, he… well, his brain practically explodes?" she asked.

Jayne glanced at her again. "Um… yeah. I had noticed that."

Her sister's dry, ironic tone had Lynn rolling her eyes. "I just meant… oh, I don't know. It worries me a little."

"Worries everyone," Jayne practically grunted.

"I know, but… it can't be normal, right? Even in the abnormal sense of the word. I just… it seems to really hurt. What if he…? I don't know; what if he has a vision one day and it's like, _bam!_ Aneurysm. _Boom!_ Coma."

Jayne raised her eyebrow skeptically. "You think Sam's visions are going to put him in a coma?"

"I don't know! Maybe. I mean… I don't know."

"I don't know either, Lynn. I mean… Andy's gift doesn't seem to come with crippling migraines. Max didn't have headaches. Neither did Landon. Neither does Steve."

"Exactly!" Lynn crowed triumphantly. "So why is Sam different? Huh? It can't be good."

Jayne shrugged. "Maybe he just fights harder against the visions than the others do. Maybe that's why it hurts so much; he resists too hard."

Lynn frowned at her. "You think Sam fights harder against the visions than Steve fights against the brain fire?"

It was Jayne's turn to roll her eyes and sigh in exasperation. "I don't know, ok?"

They both fell silent after that, staring moodily out the windshield as they followed Dean's car.

They parked their cars before reaching the bridge, hoping not to alert Webber to their presence. Lynn hopped down from the cab before Jayne had even shut off the engine, frowning up ahead at the bright lights on the bridge. The side road they'd pulled onto was dark and shrouded by shrubs and trees, but the bridge was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Steve's car parked just behind them, and he stepped smoothly out of the Superbird, wasting no time in jogging up to his sisters. All five hunters met at the trunk of the Impala. Dean was pulling out weapons, and Sam was still looking up at the bridge. He turned at the approach of the other three. "You guys should probably stay back," he announced, addressing Lynn, Jayne and Dean. "Steve and I will go ahead."

"No arguments here," Dean agreed. "I've had my head screwed with enough for one day."

Jayne nodded briefly and said nothing. Lynn shrugged and tried to smile brightly. "Sure," she murmured. "I'm with you."

Suddenly, the Impala's back door slammed, and Andy came tearing around the bumper. "I'm coming with you," he announced.

"I don't think so," Steve retorted. "Not going to happen."

Sam glared at him out the corner of his eye, and then attempted to smile sympathetically at the other psychic. "Andy, no" he said softly.

"Look, it's Tracy out there," Andy returned determinedly. "And I'm coming."

There was a brief silence, and then Sam breathed out heavily through his nose. "All right," he practically whispered. "Ok, fine."

"What?" Steve snapped. "Uh… no. Not fine. I've already got _one_ civilian to babysit out there – I'm not interested in adding a second."

"Shut up," Andy snapped back, much to Lynn's bewilderment. All of a sudden, the happy-go-lucky hippie that lived out of his van was gone, and replaced by someone a lot more determined and menacing than she'd ever imagined Andy could be. "I can make people do things with my brain. I kind of doubt I still qualify as a civilian."

Then he turned his back on all of them and marched towards the bridge. Sam glanced at the other hunters briefly before shrugging and jogging after Andy. Steve glared at their backs for a moment, shook his head, and then followed.

Lynn watched them go worriedly, and then looked over at Jayne and Dean. Her sister was eying the ground, and Dean had his eyebrow raised as he watched the other three head towards the bridge. He glanced at Lynn and her sister, and smirked.

"Awkward," he quipped.

Jayne rolled her eyes and marched back to her truck. "Shut up," she tossed over her shoulder.

Dean blinked after her, and then turned questioning eyes on Lynn. She shrugged at him. Jayne dug out a few high-power rifles, complete with scopes, and tossed one in Lynn's direction. She caught it, and then the three of them headed for high ground around the bridge, looking out for cover. They found it on the top of the gorge, overlooking the deep, cavernous, cement-sided dam, where the thick shrubs concealed them but they still had a good view of the bridge. There was an iron fence separating the bridge from their side of the gorge. As she picked her way through the undergrowth, Lynn could hear the water rushing out of the large pipes and flowing down the vertical, cement ditches into the deep dark pool below.

There was no one on the bridge yet, save for a lone, rusty blue sedan. Lynn watched the car carefully as she hunkered down in the brush, several feet to the left of her sister, and set up shop. Her sister did the same, and even farther up along the gorge was Dean, settling into the bushes and preparing his rifle.

She swallowed hard and loaded the weapon, her eyes fixed on the bridge.

This was all going to end in tears.

* * *

><p>Sam moved quickly and quietly, staying in the shadows as he made his way towards Webber's car. Andy and Steve were behind him, keeping pace. They didn't have a lot of time, and Sam was getting twitchy. He clutched his pistol tightly in both hands, holding it down low.<p>

He stopped just a few feet away from the car, hunkered down by the railing of the bridge. Sam could just barely make out two heads in the front seat through the dirty windows. He glanced back at Steve and Andy, and gave them the nod.

Steve darted across the street and ducked into the shadow of the opposite railing. Sam ran towards the car, making a beeline for the driver's side door. Andy stayed in the shadows, creeping closer to the vehicle.

_Crash! _Sam smashed his pistol against the driver's side window, shattering the glass. Tracy jumped and Webber, seated behind the wheel, flinched away from the window. "Get out of the car!" Sam barked, leveling the pistol at his face. "Now!"

Webber turned towards the broken window and looked up at Sam with narrowed, murderous eyes. His attempts to duck the glass had failed, and there was cut beside his left eye. "You _really_ don't want to do this," he said, his voice taking on the same low, raspy quality that Andy's had back in the alleyway.

Sam punched him the mouth.

Tracy screamed. Webber didn't move right away, nursing the fresh wound. Andy appeared on the other side of the car and yanked open Tracy's door.

"Andy!" she cried out, stumbling out of the car and into his waiting arms. Sam tuned them out as Andy hugged his ex-girlfriend and murmured comforting nonsense to her, focusing instead on dragging Webber out of his car. The other psychic stumbled into the side of his vehicle as Sam jerked him around by the collar, holding his pistol against Webber's collarbone. Steve appeared at the back bumper just then, holding his gun straight at Webber's head as he marched towards them.

"Don't move, asshole," he barked at Webber. He received a baleful glare for his trouble.

Just then, Andy came flying around the front of the car, leaving a tearful, confused Tracy staring after him, her hands over her mouth and her dress half unbuttoned. He'd been carrying a roll of duct tape since they'd left the car, and now he used it on Webber, brushing past Sam and slapping a length of tape right over Webber's mouth.

Then Andy started kicking Webber in the chest, which had definitely not been part of the plan. Sam instinctively let go of Webber, letting him fall to the pavement, and grabbed Andy by the arms, pulling him away from his brother.

"Andy! No, stop!" Sam bellowed.

"I'll kill him!" Andy shouted, still fighting to reach his brother.

Steve grabbed Webber by the collar of his jacket and hauled him onto his feet, tossing him against the car again. He pressed his arm into the other kid's throat, holding his gun up so Webber was eye-to-eye with barrel. "Don't fucking move," he said again.

Sam kept wrestling with Andy, trusting Steve to keep Webber under control. Unfortunately, no one thought to be keeping an eye on Tracy. Andy kept fighting and kicking and yelling threats at his twin, and Sam kept pulling him away, turning his back on the young woman still standing by the front end of the car.

"No, Andy! Let me handle this, all right?"

_Thud!_

Pain exploded in the back of Sam's skull as something blunt and heavy collided with the back of his head. His arms went limp and his knees gave out. Sam let go of Andy and collapsed on the pavement.

Everything went black.

* * *

><p>Things were not going well on the bridge.<p>

Jayne could see that even from her perch across the gorge, several feet above the bridge, kneeling in the dirt. She was hunkered down behind a shrub, her rifle in her hands, trying to aim at Webber, who kept moving around.

Sam was lying face down on the pavement, barely moving. Tracy had dropped her tree branch on the ground and now she was standing on the railing of the bridge, looking down into the dam. Webber shrugged Steve off of him and pulled the tape off his mouth, approaching Andy, who stood still in the street with his arms up in surrender.

Jayne frowned at the scene, refocusing her aim on Webber's head. Her brother raised his gun and brought it down hard on the back of Webber's head. The other psychic crumpled, falling onto his knees.

It should have been a positive turn of events, but Jayne could tell even from this distance that was not the case. Webber was lolling on the asphalt, but Tracy was still standing on the railing, and there was plenty of unintelligible, panicked shouting ringing out from the bridge.

She would have shot Webber then and there if her brother hadn't stepped into the shot. Cursing at his back, she watched as he grabbed the other psychic by the neck and rolled him onto his back. Webber laughed. Steve looked ready to shoot the kid, but something the psychotic asshole said stopped him cold. Her brother's head tilted to the side, as though he was trying to figure Webber out.

_Bam!_

Something heavy collided with the back of her head then, and Jayne collapsed sideways into the dirt, her rifle tumbling from her hands. Pain exploded in her skull, and then everything went dark.

* * *

><p>Lynn could not seem to get a good shot on Webber, no matter how hard she tried, and it was seriously starting to piss her off. The person she was most pissed at, however, was definitely her baby brother.<p>

"Damn it," she hissed to herself, as her brother's back obstructed her view for the third time. The moron just kept getting in her line of sight. He seemed determined to take out Webber himself.

Frustrated, she was forced to sit still and watch helplessly as the entire scene played out below her on the bridge. Tracy beamed Sam in the head with a branch, and then ran over to the edge and hoisted herself onto the railing. Then Webber ditched her brother and the duct tape on his mouth, had a brief conversation with Andy as Sam lay unconscious on the asphalt, and was promptly knocked out on his face when her brother slammed his gun into the back of the psychic's head.

Her fingers twitched around the trigger on her rifle. Her brother was still in the way. Steve was standing over Webber, threatening him again. The kid just laughed at Steve, and it freaked Lynn out a little as she tried to decipher why.

Steve moved slightly, and she was able to see Webber's face better. It wasn't clear enough to get off a shot – not unless she wanted to risk hitting her brother, and Lynn definitely did not want to risk that. Still, she got a sight on him, and unfortunately he seemed to get a sight on her too.

"Damn it," she hissed again.

Webber's lips curved up into a sly, sickening smile. And then, somehow, despite the lack of words, Lynn felt her brain cloud over. It was exactly like sitting in the Impala a mere few hours earlier, with an angry Andy standing outside the car and demanding answers. There was no control over her mind or her body. Lynn hated it.

She sat still, unable to move, although she fought to refocus her aim on Webber's head. Her hands twitched as they tried to fight against the mental fog that kept them from doing what she wanted. Still, she could not move the gun, could not focus her aim, could not pull the trigger. She ground her teeth, a frustrated growl escaping her throat. There was panic rising in her. Her chest tightened painfully, and her breath came in short, harried hisses.

Steve had stepped away from Webber now, and the man was sitting up, leaning against his car. Andy was yelling at him, waving his hands around excitedly, and Webber was talking back. Still, Lynn couldn't move.

They only spoke for a few moments, and then her brother got antsy. Steve pointed his gun at Webber's head, and then it happened.

A command wove its way through her head, and Lynn tried desperately to fight back against it. Her hands tightened on the rifle, shaking as she tried not to move her fingers. She couldn't do this, wouldn't do this…

Her finger twitched violently, and she pulled back the trigger.

A horrified squeak escaped her lips as the gunshot echoed through the area. Everyone on the bridge, save Webber and Tracy, hit the deck. Nobody seemed hurt, and Lynn breathed a sigh of relief.

Then the command came again, and Lynn tried not to listen. She fought with herself, trying to move away from the edge of the dam. She told herself to drop the gun, but her grip on the weapon only tightened. She gasped, shaking her head, as her arms moved of their own accord, aiming at the bridge below.

She fought with herself, and that's what saved them, she was sure. Her aim was off, and her hands shook around the rifle.

_Bang!_

The second shot missed Steve by inches and gave Webber's car a flat tire. She cried out again as she pulled the trigger, and then nearly sobbed in relief when she missed her brother.

There was a long moment of silence. Not once did Webber try to make her pull the trigger. She sighed, watching the bridge, thankful when nobody moved again. Her brother had dropped his gun, and Webber seemed to have dismissed him as a threat. She was still breathing too hard, clutching the rifle too tightly as her entire body shook. _Nobody move_, she willed at the bridge. _Nobody move._

Because if somebody down there moved, she was going to have to shoot them. No matter how hard she tried to resist Webber, so far she was unsuccessful. It was up to Dean or Jayne now, and Lynn squeezed her eyes tightly shut, hoping they'd take Webber out before he could make her do what she feared most.

She would never forgive herself if she killed her little brother.

* * *

><p>Sam had only blacked out for a second, but it was enough time for Steve to pistol whip Webber right in the back of the head, sending the out-of-control psychic face first into the pavement. Sam squinted at Webber, who was laying on the ground beside him, his cheek smushed up against the asphalt. The pain in his skull made it almost impossible for him to move – he could barely lift his head. Sam tried to blink his blurry vision back into focus. Some feet away was the tree branch Tracy had used to beam him in the back of the head. Tracy herself was nowhere to be seen.<p>

"How did you do that?" he heard Andy ask.

Webber rolled slowly and painfully onto his side, looking in the direction of the other psychic. "Practice, bro," he replied through a grimace. "If you'd practice, you would know. You don't always need to use your words." Webber slowly reached up, wincing slightly as he put his hand to his head. "If you have to, you can use this. Sometimes, the headache's worth it."

"You twisted son of a bitch…!"

"Back _off_, Andy! Tracy's going to do a little flying. Aren't you, Trace? I'm stronger than you. I can do it."

"Tracy!" he heard Andy call out. The sound of Andy's footsteps echoed around the bridge as he raced for the railing. "Tracy, wait! Stop! Come down from there!"

His voice had taken on that same breathy quality he'd used back in the alleyway – the tone that made Dean, Jayne and Lynn spill their guts. Sam couldn't tell what Tracy did in response – whether she came down from the rail, or stayed up there because Webber's mind control was stronger. As Sam lay there in the street, blinking at Webber's bloodied face, he saw the black-leather clad arm of Steve Juarez reach into his eyeshot and grab Webber by the collar of his coat.

He threw the kid onto his back. Webber coughed and wheezed, lolling on the pavement. "Steve," Sam choked out, trying to sit up. "Wait…"

Steve paid him no mind. He towered over Webber, pointing his gun straight at the other psychic's face. Webber started to laugh, choking as he did so and rolling slightly on the ground.

"What the hell's so funny?" Steve barked at him, cocking the pistol. "You're about to be a dead man, Giggles. I'd sober up."

"He's going to kill her," Webber wheezed. "Go ahead; shoot me. I'll make him kill her."

Steve frowned and cocked his head. Slowly, he lowered his weapon and glanced around the bridge. Webber choked out another laugh.

"I'm stronger than you, Andy!" he called out. "I can make Tracy fly. Can't I, Trace? Aren't you going to fly?"

Sam heard a strangled sob from the young woman in question. "Wait!" he heard Andy cry out. "Ok, I… I… fine. Just don't hurt her!"

Sam tried to get up again, but only managed to roll over on his back. The bright lights from the bridge shone directly into his eyes and Sam squinted in pain. Webber dragged himself into a half sitting position, slumping against the front tire of his car. "Don't be mad at me, ok?" he practically whined, looking up at Andy. "I know, it's… it's all wrong!"

"Can I shoot him yet?" Steve snapped.

Andy waved Steve off, and Webber ignored him completely. "I didn't mean for this to happen. It's just…" Webber trailed off and shook his head. "Tracy? She's trying to come between us."

Andy shook his head. "You're insane."

"She's garbage!" Webber exclaimed. "Man, they all are! We can push them! We can make them do whatever we want!"

"All right, that's it," Steve interrupted. "I think I've patronized enough crazy for one day."

He raised his gun towards Webber's head and pulled back the hammer. Before Steve could fire off a shot, however, another gunshot from a much larger gun echoed across the dam. Sam flinched, trying to lift his head and see what was going on. Both Andy and Steve hit the deck. Steve was down for mere moments, however, and soon rose back up, preparing to shoot at Webber again. A second shot rang out, and Steve narrowly missed an incoming bullet. The missile pierced one of Webber's tires instead, and Sam jumped at the resounding _bang!_ followed by the hissing of air rapidly escaping the wheel. Steve dropped his gun in his hurry to dodge the bullet, and now the pistol went skittering across the bridge, out of his reach.

Webber hadn't ducked once. The gunfire didn't seem to surprise him one bit. In fact, he was grinning at the scene around him. He got to his feet slowly, leaning on the car, and then he looked off towards where Dean, Jayne and Lynn were lying in wait, rifles at the ready, and he winked.

"I know they're up there," Webber announced, looking at the three men scattered on the pavement around him. "I can make her take out any one of you. Anyone but me."

Sam wondered briefly who he was talking about, but he wasn't in any state of mind to ask. Steve glowered up at Webber from his seat on the asphalt, but Andy put up his hands in surrender, climbing back to his feet. Webber watched him carefully, but Sam still saw the hope in the other psychic's eyes.

"Are you… are you really this stupid?" Andy half laughed at his brother, although the chuckle was without any real humor. "You… you learn you have a twin? You call them up. You go out for a drink. You don't start killing people!"

"I wanted to tell you for so long, bro," Webber replied. "But he didn't let me. He said I had to wait until the time was right…"

"Who?" Andy interrupted.

Webber frowned slightly, as though he'd thought the answer was obvious. "The man with the yellow eyes."

It was enough to shock Sam into a half-sitting position. Horrified, he turned his head as far as he could towards Webber. Steve caught his eye, and the two of them shared a look of understanding. Steve swallowed, hard, and Sam stared at him, hoping Steve had some sort of plan. All Steve did was look hopefully over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shrubbery around the edges of the dam, clearly searching for the other three hunters, waiting for one of them to fire off a rescuing shot.

None came. Sam returned his attention to Andy and Webber. "What are you talking about?" Andy demanded incredulously.

"He came to me," Webber explained, almost reverently. Sam hung on his every word. One glance at Steve proved that he was listening just as intently. "In my dreams. He said I was special. He told me he's got big plans for me."

Webber leaned towards Andy, grabbing him desperately but the front of his jacket. "Wait until you see what he's got in store – for both of us! He's the one who told me I had a brother! A twin."

Andy wasn't impressed. "Why'd you kill our mother?" he wanted to know. "Dr. Jennings?"

"Because they split us up!" Webber exploded. "They ruined our lives, Andy! We could have been together this whole time. Instead of alone. I… I couldn't let them do that; I couldn't let them get away with that!"

Andy stared at his twin, shaking his head. Slowly, Sam pulled himself all the way up, hoping to drag himself towards one of their abandoned guns. Steve was already on his feet and making a move towards Webber.

Webber, however, had turned towards the place where Dean, Jayne and Lynn were hiding, and he was smirking into the trees.

"I see you," he announced, and Sam's gut sank horribly. "Bye bye."

_Bang!_

The shot rang out in the stillness of the night air, and Sam flinched, expecting the worst. But the shot didn't come from the shrubs along the dam. Sam glanced at Webber, just in time to see the now glassy-eyed psychic stumble forward, and then fall face first onto the ground. Dark red blood blossomed on the back of his navy jacket.

Andy stood behind him, pointing Steve's gun where Webber had been standing. His hands shook terribly, and his eyes were wide in horror –whether it was at what Webber had done, or what he had done to Webber was anyone's guess.

Tracy let out a sob from the railing, half terrified and half relieved. Sam looked at her, and then at Andy, and then he met Steve's gaze over Webber's corpse. Steve was standing still in the street, looking confused and slightly lost. Sam grabbed hold of Webber's car and hauled himself onto his feet.

Steve reached out and took his gun gently from Andy's shaking hands. Andy looked up at him, horrified, and then he turned tail and ran for Tracy. Sam watched him help the still sobbing young woman down from the rail.

He stared silently at Steve, who shrugged and slid his pistol into his waistband. Nobody spoke.

There was nothing to say.

* * *

><p>Jayne had only been out a moment; she was certain of it.<p>

Slowly, her vision came back into focus. The black cleared from the edges of her eyesight, and she was able to make out the man towering over her. His dark hulking figure was framed by the starry night sky, and she could just barely discern his facial features.

Her head hurt too much to move, so Jayne lay still on her back, in the dirt, staring wide-eyed at the barrel of Dean's rifle. "Dean?" she asked slowly, hesitantly.

Dean was standing over her, his hands shaking, pointing his rifle at her head. She could see panic in his eyes, but there was nothing else in his face. Momentarily, she was confused. Her head was pounding in pain, and she struggled to remember how she'd ended up in this situation. It took longer than it should have, but Jayne managed to put the pieces together right.

Webber knew the three of them were up there, hiding in the brush and waiting to take him out. So he'd used his mojo on Dean, and now he was trying to make Dean shoot her.

Dean was trying not to – that she could determine by the shake in his hands – but he was clearly losing the battle. Webber had him so out of control that Dean couldn't even speak to her.

Slowly, painfully, Jayne raised herself a few inches on her elbows, lifting her head off the ground. She squinted up at Dean, cringing as she tried to stay upright.

"Dean," she said slowly, her voice raspy. His hands shook harder. She scooted backwards in the dirt, wincing when the pain in her head intensified. Little black spots exploded in her vision. She swallowed down a sudden wave of panic.

There was no way to see what was happening on the bridge. She heard two shots ring out in the night air, sounding like they came from Lynn's corner of the undergrowth. Jayne hoped against hope that her sister had taken out Webber, and that everything was over.

No such luck. Dean glanced at the bridge briefly, but Jayne didn't dare look away from him. He turned his huge panicking eyes back on her. He didn't put down the gun, although his hands continued to shake. Jayne stared steadily into his eyes, willing him to fight what Webber was telling him to do.

"Dean, I…" She trailed off, choking on her words. She didn't know what to say.

He just stared at her with wide, horrified eyes. His arm spasmed, and then his finger tightened ever so slightly on the trigger.

_Bang!_

The gunshot echoed throughout the night and Jayne flinched violently. She squeezed her eyes shut and toppled backwards onto the ground. For one terrible moment, she truly believed he'd shot her.

But there was no sudden pain, no spurting blood. Jayne lay still a moment, not believing her luck, and then slowly opened her eyes.

Dean stared down at her, his eyes still wide and horrified. Slowly, he looked down at his rifle. Then with a sudden, repulsed jerk of his hands, he tossed the gun into the trees.

She lay still in the dirt, breathing heavily, and stared at him. He stared back at her, still wide-eyed with panic, not moving a muscle. For several long, silent seconds, neither of them moved. They just stared at each other.

Lynn cried out somewhere to their right. Jayne broke eye contact with Dean, lifting herself slightly off the ground to see what was wrong with her sister. "Lynn!" she called out throatily, wincing with pain as she tried to see through the darkness.

"Jaynie!" she heard her sister cry back. There was a lot of thrashing about in the undergrowth, and then Lynn appeared, bursting out of the bushes with her rifle hanging loosely from her hand. Her face was red and streaked with tears. Jayne tried to get up and failed.

"What happened?" she demanded.

Lynn rushed to her side, dropping the rifle and threw her arms around her sister's neck. "Are you ok?" she practically shrieked in Jayne's ear.

Jayne flinched, trying to struggle free. "I'm fine," she replied. "What happened?" she demanded again.

Lynn pulled back ever so slightly, and pulled Jayne up into a sitting position. "I… I couldn't control myself! He… he made me… Jaynie, I almost shot Steve!"

Jayne swallowed, hard. She stared at Lynn, and then she forced out a smile for her. "Well, you didn't, right?"

Lynn shook her head.

"No harm done," Jayne told her.

Her sister looked outraged at that assessment of the situation. "But… but I could have…!"

"But it wasn't you, it was Webber," Jayne told her. "And you didn't. So it's ok, really."

Lynn sniffed, and frowned at her. Then she frowned at Dean, and then she frowned at Jayne again. "What happened here?" she asked.

"I almost shot your sister," Dean replied in a low voice. Jayne looked at him sharply, and he simply stared back. She didn't know what to make of him at the moment.

Lynn gasped, predictably. "But he didn't," Jayne was quick to say. "So, again… _no harm done_."

"Wouldn't say that," Dean pointed out, shrugging. "Knocked you in the head pretty hard, didn't I?"

Why was he doing this? Jayne swallowed down a nasty retort, and gave him as even a look as she could muster. "I'm fine."

"You can't get up, can you?" he replied.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Just to prove him wrong, she gently removed Lynn from her shoulder and slowly got up on her feet. The movement went to her aching head and she swayed, the world blurring in front of her. She ignored the sensation, forcing herself upright. The dizziness passed, and she stood straight, lifting her eyebrows smugly at him.

Dean looked away, and she resisted the urge to throttle him. What the hell was his problem, anyway? She was the one who almost got shot.

Lynn's eyes were on the bridge now. "We should get down there," she announced.

Jayne nodded slowly in agreement. Dean shrugged and then turned his back on both of them, marching off in the direction of the bridge. Once he'd put some distance between them, Jayne sagged slightly and Lynn took her arm.

"You ok?" she asked.

Jayne shrugged. "Fine."

Lynn obviously didn't believe her, but she didn't press the subject. Instead, she gripped Jayne's arm and helped her down the hill, towards the road, and then up the road towards the bridge. Dean led the way, but he never glanced back at them – not once.

Jayne glared at his back. What the hell was wrong with him now?

When they reached the bridge, Andy was standing by Webber's car, trying very hard not to look at his twin brother's body. He studied his hands instead, turning them from side to side as he did so. Jayne glanced at Steve, finding her brother hovering nearby, his eyes continually straying towards the other psychic, betraying his concern for the kid. Still, Steve said nothing. He made no move towards Andy.

Tracy was huddled in Andy's coat, sitting on the trunk of the car, refusing to talk or even look at anybody. Sam had his cell phone pressed to his ear, apparently phoning in Webber's body.

The first thing Lynn did was release Jayne's arm and run for their little brother. Jayne watched with a raised eyebrow as her sister threw her arms around her brother's neck, nearly knocking the kid off his feet. "I'm so sorry!" she practically sobbed into Steve's shoulder. "Oh my god, I could have… are you ok?"

Steve pulled away ever so slightly so Lynn could see the smirk on his face. "Oh, that was you, was it?" he retorted. "You were the one shooting at me?"

Lynn nodded, her lip caught between her teeth. "I didn't… I couldn't, I tried not to, but he…"

Steve shook his head and pulled away completely, taking Lynn by the shoulders and looking her in the eye. "Don't sweat it, sis. No harm, no foul. Besides, it's not like it's your fault anyway."

Lynn still looked distinctly troubled, but she let the subject drop. Jayne swayed slightly on her feet, and made a move towards the bridge railing for support. She leaned up against it and folded her arms over her chest, silently surveying the rest of the group.

Dean was still not looking at her. In fact, it seemed like he was going to great lengths to avoid looking at her. She frowned at the back of his head as he fussed with his rifle. It was suddenly very tempting to kick his ass.

Lynn was stuck like glue to Steve's side. Steve didn't seem to mind her hovering, but he was still watching Andy intently. Andy stood still, ignoring everyone, as did Tracy.

Sam hung up his cell phone. "Cops will be here in twenty," he informed them. "Andy?"

Andy looked up from his hands, startled. "Uh… yeah," he mumbled. "Right."

"Everyone ok?" Sam asked, his eyes roving over the rest of the group. He was swaying on his feet too, Jayne recognized, obviously still feeling the effects of the blow to his head.

"Peachy," Dean spat.

Sam frowned at him, and then looked at her for an explanation. Jayne wanted to snap at him too, hating that all of a sudden it was up to her to explain Dean's weird moods. What was she, a mind reader? Did she and Dean share a brain?

She simply shrugged at Sam and looked away. Sam frowned at Lynn next, who finally moved away from Steve. They shared whispers by the car, out of earshot from everyone but Tracy, who was so clearly not listening.

Police sirens echoed in the distance. Jayne glanced at the horizon line, seeing the first few rays of sunlight poke through the distant trees. Heaving a sigh, she let herself sink down onto the cement, sitting cross-legged and cross-armed as she waited for the cops to arrive.

Something had changed in the course of the night, and now nothing was going to be the same, ever again, for any of them.

* * *

><p>The sun had risen, and it was already a bright, warm morning. Dean leaned against the railing on the bridge, frowning over at Andy. He was standing in front of three state troopers, giving them his statement.<p>

"He shot himself," Andy told them. "And you all saw it happen."

The troopers frowned at him, and then slowly nodded. "Yeah," one of them agreed. "We did."

"Look at him," Sam murmured. Dean glanced down at his brother, who was sitting on the curb at Dean's feet. Sam's eyes were fixed on Andy, and he was slowly shaking his head. "He's getting better at it."

Dean made no comment and surveyed the scene on the bridge instead. There were cops swarming all over the street, and the coroner was loading a black body bag into the county hearse. Paramedics were parked nearby, and they were currently taking care of a very shaken Tracy. She was wrapped in a blanket and sitting in the back of the ambulance, barely listening to the EMTs who were trying to talk to her. The paramedics had already looked at both Sam and Jayne's head wounds and given them clean bills of health.

That didn't make Dean's guilt go away.

Jayne was leaning on the back of her truck, and Lynn was standing nearby, glancing anxiously around them. Steve was talking to them both, but Dean couldn't make out what the brat was saying. Andy turned away from the troopers and headed towards Dean and his brother, chancing a small smile at Tracy as he passed by the ambulance.

Tracy looked away immediately, her face twisted in confusion and uneasiness. Andy ducked his head and walked over to Dean and Sam.

"She won't even look at me," he said to them.

Dean looked at the ground. "Yeah," Sam murmured softly. "She's pretty shaken up."

Andy shook his head. "No, it's… this is different. It's, uh… I never used my mind thing on her before… before last night. She's scared of me now."

There was a brief silence. Dean shifted uncomfortably on the railing and glanced at his brother. Sam was giving the other psychic sympathetic eyes, but at Dean's look, he got down to business. "Look, I hate to do this to you," Sam said. "But we've got to get out of here."

Andy scoffed, a short, disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips. Sam handed him a slip of paper. "Here, I wrote down my cell. You don't have to be alone in this, all right? If anything comes up, call me up."

Dean glanced at the truck and gave the other three hunters a nod. Then he made his way towards the Impala. Sam followed. Andy shook his head, turning the phone number over in his hands incredulously. "What am I supposed to do now?" he demanded at their backs.

Both hunters turned to look at him. "You be good, Andy," Dean replied. "Or we'll be back."

Andy gawked at him. Before he could call Dean on quoting _Terminator_, Dean turned away and finished his march to the car. Sam was on his heels. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Lynn and Jayne following behind them. Andy brushed past them, still looking overwhelmed, and Dean stopped so the two women could catch up. Steve was nowhere in sight.

"Hey," Lynn called, jogging the rest of the way. Jayne lagged behind her. "You guys heading out?"

"Yeah," Dean retorted. "Aren't you?"

He couldn't help being irritable. Lynn let it slide. "We were talking to Steve," she explained quickly, her nerves obvious by the rambling tone of her voice. "He, uh… he's concerned. About Andy, that is."

"Why?" Dean snapped. "He was a serious dick to him, right up till the end there. What, he caught religion or something?"

Jayne rolled her eyes and rested her hip on the Impala's back bumper. Lynn took a deep, steadying breath, clearly doing her best not to snap back at him. Her determination to be patient further pissed Dean off. "I think he feels bad," she said. "And Andy's seriously freaked. Don't tell me you don't see that."

"Of course he's freaked. Wouldn't you be?"

"Dean," Sam reprimanded him softly.

"Steve wants to stay here," Lynn announced, tossing her wavy black hair over her shoulder. "And I told him I'd stick around with him. You know, kind of play mediator? You're right; Steve was a dick to Andy. I doubt he's going to willingly accept his help."

"Help with what?" Sam asked curiously, his brow crinkled.

Lynn shrugged. "We left the kid in kind of a mess, don't you think?"

There was a short silence. Sam surveyed the cop cars and ambulance on the bridge, and nodded. "Yeah," he murmured. "I guess we did."

Dean shook his head, annoyed. He could see Andy wandering slowly down the bridge, and now he could see Steve, lounging against the rail clear on the other end. He glanced at Jayne. "You ok with this?" he demanded.

Jayne shrugged. "They can do what they want."

"Jayne's not staying," Lynn spoke up. "Just me and Steve."

Dean would have said something else, but his phone rang. Rolling his eyes, his took the phone out of his coat and answered it. "Hello?"

"Dean."

The woman's voice on the other end was too patient. He recognized her immediately. "Ellen," he greeted her. "What's going on?"

"If you've wrapped up whatever wild goose chase you all have been on the past two days, I was wondering if you could come back up to the roadhouse. I've got a bit of an emergency."

Dean frowned at that. "Uh… yeah. We'll be right there."

She hung up before he could ask what the problem was.

Everyone was staring at him when he hung up the phone. "Ellen," he explained. "Uh… she wants us to come to the roadhouse."

Lynn nodded slowly. "Right. You're going?"

Dean bristled at that. "Yeah."

She turned to Jayne. "Keys? Steve won't want to go back there, I'm guessing."

Jayne rolled her eyes and handed over the truck keys. "I'll meet you guys in a couple days," Lynn announced. "Keep me informed, or whatever."

"Later," Jayne grunted.

Sam gave Lynn a reassuring smile. "See you soon."

"Whatever," Dean grumbled.

Lynn rolled her eyes and then waved at them before turning around and jogging towards Steve and Andy. Dean frowned after her, and then shrugged, turning back to the car. Sam shrugged at him, and then climbed into the passenger seat.

"You all right?" Dean grunted at Jayne.

Jayne had been staring after her sister and now she looked up at him in surprise. "Yeah," she replied. "Fine."

"Good," he snapped. "Get in the car."

She glared at him. Dean ignored her and climbed in behind the wheel. Seconds later, Jayne had arranged herself in the backseat and slammed his car door. Dean flinched at the noise, but made no comment.

Silently, Dean turned over the engine and eased on the gas. The Impala rolled away from the bridge, headed for the highway.

* * *

><p>Lynn walked briskly across the bridge, the warm, late summer breeze blowing back her hair. She could see Steve, down at the other end of the bridge, lounging on the back of his bright orange Roadrunner, which he had half-heartedly attempted to conceal in the trees. Andy was standing nearby, with his arms folded over his chest.<p>

She strolled past cops and EMTs and emergency vehicles. She didn't bother finding out how Tracy was doing, because the young woman clearly wanted nothing to do with any of them after the scene on the bridge. It could have been much worse, although Tracy probably didn't see it that way. Lynn could have shot one of them while she was under Webber's influence. Dean could have shot Jayne. Her brother could have lost control and set someone on fire.

But Steve hadn't lost control, and despite everything else that had happened on the bridge the night before, Lynn was proud of him.

When she reached the Bird, Steve and Andy were standing around awkwardly and not talking. She rolled her eyes and looked at Steve. "So?" she asked him. "What's the deal?"

Steve shrugged. "We said we'd stick around."

It was just _so_ Steve to act like it had been mostly her idea. The reality was that it hadn't been Lynn's idea at all – this particular act of sympathy had been all Steve. That was something else she was proud of him for, even if he planned on spending all their time with Andy acting like helping the kid out was physically painful for him.

Andy frowned at Lynn in confusion. "Really?" he asked her.

Lynn tossed her hair and looked Andy in the eye. "Well, don't you want some help?" she asked him. "Don't you want some support? You just killed your brother back there, you've decimated your relationship with your ex-girlfriend, and you have a lot to deal with regarding the cops. Steve and I are willing to stick around and help you, as long as you think you need it."

Andy frowned harder. "Why?" he demanded.

Lynn frowned back. "Why not?"

Andy didn't have an answer for that. He just shrugged and glared at his sneakers. Steve rolled his eyes and got off the back bumper of his car. He ducked back into the trees a little farther, away from the eyes of the cops. "Look," he snapped at Andy. "Want to see what kind of demon mojo I got going on?"

The question peaked Andy's interest, but did nothing to settle his nerves. "Demon mojo?" he repeated incredulously, even as he stepped into the trees behind Steve, obviously interested in seeing the show.

"Yeah, demon mojo," Steve replied. "What, you think this stuff comes naturally?"

"Well…" Andy stuttered. "I…"

Steve rolled his eyes. "That's what I thought."

Lynn glanced over her shoulder at the bridge, eyeing the horde of police officers. Once she was convinced nobody was looking at them, she too stepped into the trees, where she leaned her hip against the front end of her brother's car.

Steve had cleared a space in the dirt, and now in the center of it he gathered dry twigs and dead leaves. Once the pile was large enough, and there was enough dirt between the kindling and other nearby flammable objects, Steve took a step back, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles.

"Dude," Andy said, eyeing him suspiciously. "What the hell are you doing?"

Lynn sniggered. Steve ignored them both and glared at the pile of sticks.

_Boom!_

Crackling flames exploded in the middle of the kindling. Andy jumped about five feet in the air, and stumbled backwards into Steve's car.

"Hey!" Steve barked at him. "Watch the paint!"

Andy gawked wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the small campfire in the trees. "You just… but that's…"

"Impossible?" Lynn supplied dryly.

Andy stared at her, and then he stared at Steve. Then he returned his gaping to the fire. "Dude," he breathed. "You just set that on fire with your _mind_."

"Yeah," Steve replied, leaning against one of the trees. "I did."

Andy laughed. "That is _so_ cool!"

Steve blinked at the other psychic in surprise. Lynn couldn't help smiling at Andy's astonished face. The smile grew wider as Andy laughed again and grinned at Steve.

Her brother chuckled begrudgingly, and shrugged. "Cool's not usually the word I use."

Andy just shook his head, still laughing and shaking his head in awe. "Wicked."

Steve actually smiled. Lynn laughed out loud. "Yeah, wicked," Steve returned smartly. "That might be more appropriate."

Andy's smirk vanished. He looked from Steve to Lynn and back again. "So," he said seriously. "Demon mojo?"

Lynn looked at Steve, who nodded in response to her unasked question. "Not here," she told Andy. "Let's go somewhere a bit more private, and then we'll tell you what we know."

Andy nodded slowly. Steve started kicking dirt at the small fire, and Lynn jogged towards her sister's truck, still parked up on the bridge. Andy stayed behind with Steve.

It wasn't by any means a perfect situation, but having Andy in the know seemed better than leaving him out of it. Besides, he had to deal with the same kind of shit that Steve and Sam did, and it was her opinion he had every right to know about the yellow-eyed demon.

She just hoped the other three agreed, or there was going to be some serious yelling.

* * *

><p>Guthrie was barely a mile behind them, but Sam had already tired of the silence in the car. Jayne was lounging in the rear seat, her face turned to the window, either watching the highway fly by them or sleeping off her head injury. Dean was equally quiet, his eyes focused on the pavement in front of them and his jaw clenched tight. Sam looked at Jayne in the back, and then at his brother beside him, before shaking his head in exasperation and flopping back against the passenger seat.<p>

He stared out the window, watching the trees and cinderblock barriers fly past them as Dean sped down the highway, easily passing and occasionally cutting off the other cars. The radio was on and blasting some sort of hair metal – Dean's go-to road tunes.

Sam watched the green road signs whizz by as they put more and more distance between them and Guthrie. But no amount of distance could take Guthrie off his mind. Andy was still back there, and now so were Lynn and Steve. Sam had a tiny, nagging feeling in his stomach, turning his insides, and no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he didn't need to be in Guthrie with them, the nagging feeling would not go away.

It was more than just guilt over leaving Andy behind – guilt made only worse by the fact that someone else had seen the need to stay with the other psychic. It was a need that normally Sam would have recognized, and it threw him that he had somehow overlooked it. But more than that, Sam could not keep from replaying the scene on the bridge over and over again in his mind. Webber had known about the demon – Webber had _seen_ and _spoken_ to the demon.

Andy had killed Webber.

He wasn't able to stop the short, scoffing laugh. Unfortunately, everyone in the car heard it. Jayne looked up from the window, proving she was still awake. Dean shot him a sideways glare. "What?" he demanded.

Sam shrugged and glared straight through the windshield. "Looks like I was right, is all."

Dean looked even grumpier. "Right about what?"

"Andy."

Both Dean and Jayne frowned at him. Sam shrugged again. "He's a killer after all."

Jayne snorted in the backseat, and Dean gave him an incredulous look. "No, he's a hero," Dean retorted. "Saved his girlfriend's life, saved…"

Dean choked on the words and cut himself off mid-sentence. Sam frowned at him, and Dean glared at the road some more, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

"My life," Jayne supplied dryly. "He saved my life. My brother's life. Hell, probably your life too, Sam."

Dean's jaw tightened, but he nodded and tried to sound normal. "Right," he agreed.

Sam scoffed again. "Bottom line? Last night, he wasted somebody."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but he's not a foaming at the mouth psycho. Ok? He was just… he was pushed into that."

"Webber was pushed too, in his own way," Sam pointed out. "Max Miller was pushed; Landon Creevey was pushed. Hell, I was pushed by Jessica's death! And Jayne, you can't honestly tell me Steve wasn't pushed a few times himself. The possessed man in Iowa? West Virginia, when we caught up with Landon?"

"Do _not_ compare that with Webber," Jayne snapped, sitting up straight. Sam looked over his shoulder and she glared at him. "Or Max, or Landon. It's completely different, and you know it."

"Is it?" Sam returned.

"What's your point, Sam?" Dean asked irritably.

"My point is right circumstances, everyone's capable of murder! _Everyone._"

Jayne pursed her lips together and shook her head, glaring out the window again. Dean frowned at Sam out the corner of his eye. Sam didn't care how pissed off he was making them – they _had_ to discuss this. They had to _face_ it.

He shook his head. "Maybe that's what the demon is doing," he said. "Pushing us. Finding ways to break us."

"Look, we don't know what the demon wants," Dean replied. "Ok? Quit worrying about it."

He smacked Sam in the shoulder and then returned his focus to the road. Jayne seemed content to ignore the conversation as well, but Sam wasn't having any of it. He stared at the side of Dean's face for a moment. Then he sat up a little straighter, ready to confront his brother. "You know, I heard you before, Dean," Sam reminded him. "When Andy made you tell the truth. You're just as scared of this as I am. _All_ of you are."

The last sentence was directed at Jayne. She offered him a short glare out the corner of her eye and then went back to ignoring his existence.

Dean scoffed. "That was mind control!" he protested. "That's like being roofied! It doesn't count!"

"What?"

"No! I'm calling do-over."

Sam screwed up his face incredulously. "What are you, seven?"

"Doesn't matter. Look, we just got to keep doing what we're doing, find that evil son of a bitch and kill it."

Sam gawked at his brother. Dean gave him a short, serious look out the corner of his eye, and once again returned to the road. There was a brief moment of silence, and then Sam shook his head and threw up his hands. "Fine," he retorted. "Fine. But for the record? You guys can't keep ignoring this. You two, and Lynn, and even Steve – which boggles my mind, honestly, because he's right in the thick of this with me, and I cannot understand why he wouldn't want to know _exactly_ what's going on…"

"Maybe he does," Jayne cut him off viciously. "Maybe he does, but he understands that this constant arguing and rehashing the same old crap isn't finding us any answers. Seriously, shut up about it."

Sam glared at her over his shoulder. "Maybe talking about it doesn't fix anything, but neither does ignoring the problem!"

"We get it, ok?" Jayne bit back. "The demon's out there and it wants you killing with the power of your mind or whatever. Apocalypse is nigh. Blah, blah, blah. Enough!"

Sam blinked at the comment, stung and irritated. "And none of that seems important to you?"

Jayne opened her mouth to retort, but Dean interrupted her. "Stop it!" he ordered. "Enough, both of you!

Sam turned his glare on his brother instead, but before he could attempt a reply, Dean had turned the volume way up on the radio, making further conversation impossible.

It was tempting to turn off the radio and force Dean to have it out with him, right then and right there. Sam didn't do that, though. He was tired too. Tired of his fears and concerns being ignored and dismissed and swept under the rug. He was getting _nowhere_. Hell, none of them were.

He flopped back against his seat again and returned to glaring out the passenger window. The trees and buildings and highway barriers were still burring on past him as they made the journey from Guthrie back to Nebraska. Sam clammed up and stared out the window for the rest of the ride.

There was no point in talking now.

* * *

><p>The sun was high, and the parking lot out front of the Harvelle Roadhouse was dry and dusty. Little clouds of dirt flew up around the Impala's tires as the old black car wheeled across the empty gravel lot, before jerking to a stop right outside the front door.<p>

Sam climbed out and slammed the door behind him. It was enough to make Dean put his fist through a wall, but he didn't. The last thing he was going to do was punch a hole through his baby. He shut the engine down instead, and watched silently as Sam stalked inside the tavern.

Dean glanced up in the rearview mirror. Jayne was still sitting behind him, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. He swallowed, hard. "You ok?" he asked gruffly.

She looked at him, surprised. "You keep asking me that," she pointed out, just as gruff.

Dean shrugged. "Take that as a yes."

He got out of the car and slammed the door just as hard as Sam. Jayne followed suit, and the two of them walked silently into the bar.

Sam was already sitting at the bar, talking to Ellen, when the two of them entered the room. Ellen looked up and smiled big for them, although Sam pretended not to hear the old door creak open.

"Hey, Ellen," Dean greeted her. "What's the emergency?"

Ellen shrugged, and plopped two beers on the counter. "We'll get to that. Where's the other two?"

"They stayed in Guthrie," Jayne practically grunted at her. Dean glanced at Jayne briefly before taking a seat at the bar and accepting his beer. Jayne sat down on the other side of Sam, who slid her glass down to her.

He frowned at her, but she didn't seem to notice. Ellen studied all three of them with that skeptical, omnipotent mother glare of hers. Dean shifted uneasily under her hard eyes, and looked away. Jo bounced into the room then, through the swinging door to the kitchen. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, swinging a rag in her hand.

"Jo," Ellen ordered. "Go pull up another case of beer."

"_Mom,_" Jo protested.

"Now," Ellen snapped. Then she softened it with a barely believable, "Please."

Jo rolled her eyes, but she headed off to do her mother's bidding. The petulant slump to her shoulders as she shuffled towards the basement reminded Dean of an irritated teenager. He shook his head and returned his attention to his beer.

Ellen sauntered up to the counter and gave the three of them another hard look. "So," she said, leaning forward with her hands on the bar. "You want to tell me about this last hunt of yours?"

"Nope. Not really," Dean retorted.

Both Jayne and Sam looked at him in surprise, their heads turning almost simultaneously. It was borderline creepy. But scarier than that was Ellen, who tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder and glowered at him, the crow's feet crinkling around her dark brown eyes. He nearly quailed under the look she gave him.

"No offense," he defended himself, trying to shrug off the look. "It's just… kind of a family thing."

He winked at her, and immediately wished he hadn't. Ellen pulled back from the counter and gave all three of them scorching, furious eyes. "Not anymore," she informed them, grabbing a stack of papers from under the bar and plopping them down on the counter. Dean groaned inwardly. "I got this stuff from Ash."

Dean looked up at her balefully and said nothing. Sam ducked his head, also silent. Jayne stared at the papers for a moment, and then shook her head, sucking in her lower lip. She turned to glare at her beer, not offering a word for Ellen.

Ellen stared at them expectantly, and when nobody spoke, broke the silence with an accusing, "Andrew Gallagher's house caught fire on his sixth-month birthday, just like your houses. You think it was the demon all three times, don't you? You think it went after Gallagher's family."

Sam nodded despite making a pained face at the question. "We think so, yes."

"Sam," Dean warned him.

"Why?" Ellen demanded, ignoring Dean's comment.

"None of your business," Dean snapped.

Ellen turned on him, hackles up and eyes blazing. "You mind your tongue with me, boy," she barked. "This isn't just your war; it's _war._ Something big and bad is coming, and it's coming fast, and their side holds all the cards. Now at best, all we got is us. Together. No secrets or half-truths here."

If she only knew just how many secrets and half-truths Dean was keeping – not just from Ellen and Jo, but even from the people closest to him. He had a hard time not laughing in her face. Instead, he settled for a hard, mean glare – which did absolutely nothing to intimidate the woman. Finally, he gave up and looked away.

Sam looked at him, waiting for his blessing. Dean refused to give it. He said nothing. Sam took his silence as permission, and turned to Ellen. "There are people out there," he began. "Like Andrew Gallagher – like _me_. And, um… we all have some kind of ability."

Jayne breathed out hard through her nose – almost a snort. Ellen spared a dark look for her, and then turned her attention back to Sam. "Ability?" she pressed.

"Yeah," Sam shook his head, the tone of his voice bordering on amusement. "Psychic ability."

Ellen stared at Sam. Dean shook his head and looked away. This was such a bad idea… a _freaking terrible_ idea.

"Me, I, uh… I have visions. Premonitions. I don't know… it's different for everybody. Jayne's brother can start fires."

Ellen turned wide, surprised eyes on Jayne, who tossed her hair and glared at her. "Thanks, Sam," she whispered tightly.

Sam ignored Jayne. "The demon said he had plans for people like us."

Ellen frowned, looked away briefly, and then got right back down to business. "What kind of plans?" she demanded.

Sam tried to smile at her. "We don't really know for sure."

"These people out there," Ellen barreled on, barely letting Sam finish his sentence. "These _psychics_. Are they dangerous?"

"No."

Both Jayne and Dean spoke as one, their voices ringing out too loud in the bar. Ellen and Sam looked at the two of them in surprise. Dean tightened one hand around his beer, trying to stay cool. He looked over at Jayne and caught her eye. She stared evenly back, her mouth set in a grim little line.

"Not all of them," he clarified, looking back at Ellen.

"But some of them are!" Sam jumped in, all too ready to turn Ellen against the psychics. "Some are _very_ dangerous."

Ellen's eyes were wide. "Well, how many are we looking at?"

"We've been able to track them so far," Dean told her. "All their houses had fires on the night of the kid's six-month birthday."

"That's not true," Sam argued.

Dean stiffened at that, and turned a murderous glare on his brother. "What?"

"Landon," Jayne grunted. Dean glared at her too. "The kid in West Virginia. The one with the feelings. No fire."

"Webber too," Sam added. "Or… Anson Weams, or… whatever his name is.I looked at his files and there was no house fire. There was nothing out of the ordinary."

A cold feeling of dread settled over Dean. The beer turned unpleasantly in his stomach. Ellen remained steady, watching the three hunters seated at her bar. "Which breaks pattern," she pointed out. "So if there's any others like him, there'd be nothing in the system. No way to track them all down."

Jo had appeared behind her mother now, but Dean barely spared her a second glance. She'd clearly heard a lot more of the conversation than Ellen had intended her to – he could tell by the tense way she'd folded her arms over her chest, and the worry present in her big eyes. Sam looked down at the counter, and Jayne threw back a heavy gulp of her beer.

"So, who knows how many are really out there," Dean murmured, mostly to himself. The reality of the situation suddenly sank in, making it very clear what they were up against; that is, the reality that they had no idea what they were up against.

There was silence for only a moment. "Jo, honey," Ellen spoke up, apparently aware of Jo's presence the entire time.

"Yeah?" Jo asked.

"Better break out the whiskey instead."

* * *

><p>Lynn tapped her foot against the bed liner of her sister's truck, hunching over and wrapping her arms around her torso. She was sitting on the rim of the bed, near the cab, staring at the back of Andy's head. Andy had lowered the trap on the bed and was sitting on it, his feet dangling in the air. Steve's Superbird was parked behind the truck, and Steve was leaning against the front end, his arms folded over his chest. He was watching Andy too, but Andy wasn't looking at either one of them. Andy was hunched over, gripping the edges of the bed.<p>

"So, there's a demon," Andy said. "With, like… yellow eyes."

"Yeah," Lynn replied, crossing and uncrossing her ankles. "Pretty much sums it up."

"And this demon… he was the one talking to Webber?"

Steve nodded once. "We think so."

"He killed my mother."

Lynn caught Steve's eye over Andy's head. The three cars – Janis, the Roadrunner, and Andy's ridiculous van – were all parked in clearing a few miles out of town. The clearing was hidden by trees, and the cars were surrounded by tall weeds and grasses. No one was around for miles, and it had seemed like a good place to have this conversation.

Not that it mattered, really, because Andy was still freaking out. Steve stared steadily back at Lynn, and she shrugged at him, blowing hair out her eyes. "Yeah, Andy," she murmured. "Your mother, our mother… Sam and Dean's mother. Probably a lot of other people's mothers too."

"You guys are hunting it," Andy mumbled into his hands, mussing up his hair. "And it might have, like… plans for me, or something."

Steve shrugged. "Or something. We don't really know. But whatever this thing is after? It's bad. And you deserve to be in the know. Keep you on your toes."

There was a long silence. "Andy?" Lynn asked. "You ok?"

"Uh…" Andy replied. "I… I think I need Goliath."

Steve frowned. "What the fuck's Goliath?"

Andy didn't answer him. He'd already sprung off the back end of the truck and made a beeline for his van. Lynn watched, amused, as he pulled open the back doors on the dark blue monstrosity and dove inside.

"I'm guessing it's his giant bong," she said.

Steve rolled his eyes and pushed himself off his car. "Whatever."

Lynn watched her brother warily as he walked over to the truck and vaulted into the back. He flopped down in the bed, his back against the rim and his legs sprawled across the liner. "You all right?" she asked him. "You know, with, like… everything?"

Steve laughed. "Sure. Just peachy."

He knocked his head back against the truck. Lynn crinkled her nose at him and offered him a half-hearted smile. "It was good of you," she told him. "Sticking around for Andy like this."

Steve shrugged again. "Yep. I'm the best."

"Shut up," Lynn retorted. "I just meant… I think it's better this way. Not all the psychics we meet are going to be like Webber. Some of them have to be like you and Sam and Andy… and we should try to stick together, you know? Fight the good fight, turn the demon's plans against him."

"You really think that's going to work?" Steve returned bitterly. "Shit, Lynn, we don't even know how many there are, and how to find them!"

She fell silent at that, abashed. Steve heaved a harassed sigh. "Look, sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to… It's just that I'm not like Andy and Sam. Not really. I've lost control, Lynn. I killed two people."

"They were asking for it," Lynn insisted, but the words felt hollow. After all, they were only an echo of Jayne's words, or Dean's words. Shallow excuses used to hide the reality of their situation; Steve and Sam could be dangerous, intentionally or not.

Steve shook his head. "I guess so," he allowed. "But… Lynn, there's not going to be some kind of magical psychic alliance. We're not going to be the X-men. Even if we're lucky enough to find more psychics out there… well, a lot more of them might end up like Webber than you think."

The words made her nauseous and most likely because they were true. She stared sadly at her little brother, who was consciously ignoring her gaze. Nothing made her feel good about this situation, and hearing her brother admit that he was scared didn't help. She'd wanted him to admit it – hell, a tiny part of her was glad he did – but it threw her to hear him so uncertain. Steve had always known what he wanted, and he always went out and got it.

Still – and it killed her to acknowledge this small betrayal – she was happy to hear him so open, and she knew it was because Jayne wasn't there. Jayne wasn't there, and so Steve didn't feel the pressure to posture, to act like he was strong and ok when he wasn't. There was no putting on a show for fear his older, badder sister would think less of him.

She'd never really realized before exactly what Jayne's presence did to the kid.

"I don't know," Steve suddenly sighed. Lynn instantly turned her eyes on him. "Sometimes it seems so pointless, you know? One badass demon, lying low and outsmarting us. We have to find that thing, and it could be anywhere in the freaking world… how the hell are were supposed to track that, anyway?"

Lynn stared silently at him for a moment. She wanted to say something positive and reassuring. She wanted to be the optimist – the cheerleader – she wanted to chase away all his fears and problems and convince him that everything was going to be ok, and that at the end of all this, their family was going to come out on top. But she couldn't make herself say the words. He was right, really. How the hell were they supposed to stop _anything_ when they knew _nothing_ about what they needed to stop?

"You know, I think we're going to be ok," she told him. "Really, I do."

He snorted. "Liar."

She swallowed. That hit home. "Seriously, Steve. Everything looks hopeless now, I agree. I'm freaking out too. But… we almost got it once, right? We'll get it again."

Steve stared at her for a long moment. She forced a smile for him, and she could tell by the hard, scrutinizing look in his eyes that he didn't buy it for a moment. But he forced a smile back, and nodded.

"Sure," he agreed. "We'll get it again."

Lynn nodded too. She was right, after all. They had to.

* * *

><p>Jayne plopped her empty beer glass down on the bar and spun on her barstool, surveying the dark, depressing tavern. Ellen was still behind the counter, filling glasses for other customers, and Jo was flitting about the place, wiping down tables and collecting crappy tips.<p>

It was still light out, but there were enough hunters convened in the Roadhouse that it was easy for her to get lost in the shuffle. Sam was in the back, talking to Ash, and Jayne stayed on her corner of the tavern, determined to keep her distance from the mullet-sporting computer genius. She was in no mood for his antics.

Dean was nowhere in sight. He'd disappeared at some point when the regulars started streaming in, and now she couldn't find him. Despite everything that had happened the night before and earlier today, Jayne found that she _had_ to find him. Telling Ellen everything had to have messed him up. The scene on the bridge, the conversations with Sam and Andy… almost killing her… these were things that were undoubtedly playing on his mind.

Jayne really didn't want to talk about any of those things, but she wanted to see him. One look was all she needed to tell if he was all right. She glanced around the bar one more time. Satisfied that Sam, Ellen and Jo were otherwise occupied, she hopped down from her stool and strode purposefully for the front door.

She ducked outside into the late afternoon light. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning bright shades of orange and gold. Jayne let the door fall shut behind her, and then she traipsed across the long shadows, sneaking around the corner of the building.

Dean was leaning on the wall, away from prying eyes, nursing a beer. Jayne eyed the dark bottle, leaning her hip against the building and folding her arms over her chest. "Not worried about that open container violation, huh?" she quipped.

He barely looked at her. "I think we've got bigger problems," he shrugged.

There was a long silence. Jayne stared at the gravel under her boots, and Dean stared at the horizon line, watching the sun set.

"So, uh… Ellen's good people," she said. "I mean, I think."

He snorted.

"She isn't going to tell anyone who shouldn't know," Jayne pointed out. "She isn't going to stab Sam in his sleep. I mean… I didn't want to tell her either. But I think it's ok that she knows."

Dean said nothing, and Jayne started to feel like she was talking too much. It was an odd thing to feel – she never talked too much. One might argue she never talked enough.

She fell silent. Dean offered nothing of his own to the nonexistent conversation. "Look, can we stop being weird?" she asked after awhile. "You almost killed me. Big deal."

"It is a big deal," he snapped.

Jayne stared at him, surprised he'd decided to talk after all. Dean glared at her a moment, and then shook his head, looking away.

"So, what?" she asked. "You feel bad? Guilty? Want to apologize? Fucking do it; stop avoiding me."

Dean's jaw twitched. She stared at him, waiting for him to say or do anything at all. Dean didn't move; Dean didn't speak. Jayne sighed, exasperated, and rolled her eyes. "It's over now, and it was Webber anyways. Everything's fine."

Dean shook his head, lowering his eyes to the ground. "Nothing's fine," he whispered. "Not really."

Jayne waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. She waited a long time, actually, but got nothing except silence. Finally, she had to push him. "Is this even about Webber?" she demanded. "About the bridge, and the you-almost-shooting-me thing, or… or is this about something else?"

Dean glared at the gravel and shrugged one shoulder.

"Damn it, I wish you would talk to me!" Jayne exploded. Dean flinched slightly, but didn't look at her. "If you think you're _actually _fooling me, then you're a fucking idiot! I know you're hiding something, Dean! _What is your problem?!_"

He chuckled, low and deep and bitter. That was always a bad sign. "You want to know what my problem is?" he asked quietly.

Jayne stared at him, refusing to waver. "Yeah. I really do."

"Screw this," he muttered, pitching his empty beer bottle at the acres of scrub brush behind the bar. It hit the dirt and bounced instead of shattering. Jayne stared at the brown glass bottle rolling on the ground as Dean brushed past her.

She turned around and grabbed his arm. "Don't do that."

He glared at her over his shoulder. "Do what?"

"What you're doing," she retorted. "You are pushing me away. I got too close to something, right? What don't you want me to know?"

Dean jerked his arm free. "It's not your problem."

"Bull shit!"

"_I don't want to talk about it!_"

"_I don't care!_"

There was a long tense silence. Dean's chest was heaving up and down, and he was glowering at her again. Jayne glared right back, her head high, her breathing heavy.

"You want to know?" he asked her finally, his tone low and dangerous. "Really?"

"Fuck, Dean," she growled. "You know I do. Just tell me!"

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards for just a moment. He shook his head and snorted. "All that talk in there – about the psychics? Whether or not they're dangerous?"

"What about it?"

"Ellen said no secrets or half-truths. Right?"

"Spit it out, already."

Dean smirked at her. It was almost like he enjoyed delivering the news – like he _wanted_ to hurt her. "Before he died, my dad did say something to me. About Sam. And the demon."

The announcement was a slap in the face. Jayne blinked at him. She actually staggered back a step. "What?" she whispered.

"He told me…"

"Why didn't you say something before?" she interrupted furiously.

Dean gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. "You want to hear it or not?"

She glared at him but fell silent. Dean took a deep breath and carried on. "My Dad said… he said I had to… I had to _save _Sam."

Jayne blinked at that. Dean looked at the ground, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. "Well, he always told you to take care of Sam," she pointed out, frowning at him. "I don't understand. Why…?"

"You aren't listening," he snapped. "He told me I had to _save_ him. Like… I don't know. Like something was coming for him, or…"

He choked on the words, swallowing hard and glaring at the ground. Jayne frowned at him again. "OK," she murmured. "So he told you to save Sam."

Dean nodded.

"He didn't say from what?"

Dean shook his head. Jayne sighed, tangling her hand in her hair and slumping against the wall. "All right," she whispered. "And if you couldn't save him… what happens then?"

He looked torn up inside, and a tiny part of Jayne wanted to forget this whole conversation and focus on fixing him. But that part of her was miniscule in comparison to the rest of her. She was furious with him for not speaking up sooner, for keeping her in the dark about this. Whatever John said about Sam could apply to Steve too, and Dean had no right to keep that from her.

"Dean," she said slowly and meaningfully. "What else did John tell you?"

He blinked up at her with big, shining green eyes. "He said… he said if I couldn't… if I couldn't save him, I'd… I'd have to kill him, Jaynie."

Her stomach flipped over, and she folded her arms tightly over her abdomen in an attempt to keep herself together. Killing Sam? Killing… killing her brother was not an option either, and Sam couldn't…

Jayne fixed her eyes on the weeds growing out of the gravel. He'd almost gotten to her, using that nickname. Trying to soften her up so she wouldn't scream. But it wasn't going to work, and the asshole should have known that.

"I cannot _fucking_ believe you," she hissed, still staring at the gravel.

Dean blinked. "Excuse me?"

"How dare you?" she snapped, forcing herself to look into his eyes. Dean frowned at her, but Jayne kept right on going. "How could you _keep _that from me?"

A second before, Dean had been wide-eyed and vulnerable. The mask went on again, and he tilted his chin defensively, hardening his eyes. "Wasn't your problem," he shrugged.

"Bull shit!" she exclaimed. "You know damn well that your problems are my problems. Anything that applies to Sam and the demon can just as easily apply to Steve. Did you really think I didn't deserve to know? Did you really think I didn't need to be warned that something bad could come for our brothers? That we needed to save them, or… or…"

Jayne couldn't say the words either. She choked on them, once against tightening her arms over her stomach. Dean shook his head and chuckled darkly. "You are such a hypocrite, you know that?" he retorted. "Like you've never kept a secret. Russ's journals and the incubus? That theory of yours about our brothers? Cambions, right? That's what you called it."

"It's not the same thing!" she retorted.

"Like hell it isn't!"

"It's not! _I_ told _you_!"

There it was; laid out before both of them. She was automatically embarrassed by the admission, but it was far too late to take it back. Keeping that secret from her… she could not repress that feeling of betrayal.

Dean blinked and took a step back. Jayne held her head high and glowered at him. He looked surprised, and then he looked ashamed. She was far too gone to give a damn.

"I couldn't," he told her gently, and for some reason that got her hackles up again. "I just… I've been carrying this around for more than a month now. I know what it does to a person. You're right; what my Dad said? Could just as easily be about Steve. And I knew that would hurt you, and maybe I just didn't want to…"

"Oh, spare me," she spat. "This is not about protecting my feelings and you know it! It was about you, and your crap! Saying it out loud makes it too real, right?"

Silence followed her outburst. She glared at him, breathing heavily again. Her fists were clenched too tight as she tried to calm herself down; rein in all the rage. Dean stared at her, looking taken aback at first. That quickly melted into anger, and soon he was wearing an ugly glower of his own.

"You know what?" he said after a while. "You're mad at me, and honestly? I'm kind of pissed at you now. So… I'm done. I'm not doing this."

He turned his back on her and walked back towards the bar. The sight of Dean walking away from her was getting all too familiar, and it did nothing to placate her fury. "That's right!" she shouted after him. "Fine! Walk away from me! What else is new?"

Dean stopped in his tracks and slowly turned his head, looking fiercely at her over his shoulder. Jayne sneered at him. "You son of a bitch," she whispered. "You… just walk, damn it! It's all you're good for lately! I'm finished holding your hand!"

He stared at her, mute. His eyes were angry, but apparently he had nothing to say to her. That only pissed her off more. "When you're ready to _really _talk, find me," she spat. "But before then? I don't even want to look at you!"

She wasn't sure what she was saying, and she doubted Dean understood either. It was like everything had just bubbled to the surface and spewed out of her mouth. All her past grievances with Dean were trying to reach air at the same time, and they were getting jumbled together. Dean ducked his head and glared at the gravel. Then he shook his head and looked up at her. His eyes were clear and hard, and Jayne wondered if maybe he understood _exactly_ what she was talking about, after all.

"Just go!" she exploded.

And he did. Dean turned his back on her without a word, and stalked around the corner. She hunched over slightly, staring at the ground. Her eyes were stinging, and her breath was coming in shallow gasps.

She heard the tavern's front door slam, and for some reason that did her in. Jayne fell back against the tavern, blinking back a surprise attack of tears, and slowly slid down the wall, sitting down hard on the gravel. She buried her face in her hands, the tears rolling down her cheeks now, and let a single, strangled sob escape her throat.

With the sun setting in the distance, and the music from the tavern playing behind her, Jayne sat alone on the cold, dusty ground and allowed herself to cry – for losing Russ, for the Winchesters losing John, for Sam and Steve and their uncertain future, and most importantly for the stupid boy she'd very foolishly fallen in love with.


	10. I'm the Only One

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to AshlynPaige92, Guest, Mariana, SPN Mum, ColtFan165, Nelle07, ThreeMoons3, angeleyenc, chabitso.0, Spelllesswonder29, Swallowing Dante, Dean Winchester's Play Thing and DesElements for all the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 10: I'm the Only One<p>

Jayne shouldered her duffel bag and swung open the old creaking door, stepping out into the bright morning sun. It was reasonably early, and the air was actually sort of chilly. She let the door fall shut behind her and marched across the dirt and gravel lot, around the corner of the rundown tavern.

They were still at the Roadhouse. Ellen had let them crash there the night before – Sam and Dean in one room and her in the other. Really, Jayne wasn't sure what Ellen liked so much about them anyway. She barely spoke to the woman. When they stopped at the Roadhouse, Dean ended up being an asshole nine times out of ten. And Sam? Well, he was an abomination.

When she came around the corner, she found Sam and Dean already loading their bags into the Impala. Both turned around at the sound of her footsteps. Sam smiled at her, and Dean looked away immediately, turning his back on her without a word and heading for the driver's seat. Jayne rolled her eyes, marched up to the trunk, and tossed her duffel inside.

"Hey," Sam greeted her.

"Morning," she grunted.

She slammed the trunk shut simply to piss off Dean. It worked, although he tried not to let it show. He flinched at the noise, shoulders tensing, but refused to look or speak to her.

Sam watched them both warily, obviously confused. She offered him no explanation and neither did Dean. Finally, Sam gave up and sighed in exasperation. "Where are we headed?" he asked.

Jayne shrugged.

"Los Angeles, California," Dean replied.

Sam frowned. "What's in L.A.?"

"A young girl's been kidnapped by an evil cult."

Jayne raised an eyebrow. Sam looked slightly interested. "Yeah?" he asked. "Girl got a name?"

"Katie Holmes."

It took a lot of energy not to snigger. She was pissed at Dean, and therefore refusing to laugh at his stupid jokes. Sam chuckled, sounding more surprised than amused. "That's funny," he said. "And for you, so bitchy."

Dean smirked. Jayne rolled her eyes again. Before they could say or do anything else, they were startled by a sudden commotion coming from the Roadhouse. Something heavy fell over, and Jayne could swear she heard breaking glass. Ellen was yelling, although Jayne couldn't make out the words. Oddly enough, Jo was yelling back.

Dean shrugged. "Of course, on the other hand… cat fight."

He immediately headed for the tavern's front door. Sam followed just as quick. Jayne made a face, lagging behind them. "I really don't think this is any of our business," she called after them.

Neither boy paid her any mind.

Dean swung the door open and the three of them snuck over the threshold. "I am your mother!" Ellen was shouting, angrily yanking chairs down from the tables. "I don't have to be reasonable!"

"You can't keep me here!" Jo screamed back.

"Oh, don't you bet on that, sweetie!"

"What are you going to do? Chain me up in the basement?"

"You know, you've had worse ideas than that recently!" Ellen snapped. "Hey, you don't want to stay, don't stay! Go back to school!"

"I didn't belong there!" Jo retorted. "I was a freak with a knife collection!"

"Oh, but getting yourself killed on some dusty back road, _that's_ where you belong?"

Jo looked ready to spit out some nasty comeback, but then she caught sight of the three of them lurking behind her mother. Immediately, she looked away, still every bit as pissed off as she'd been moments before. Ellen whirled around and glared at them.

"Guys, bad time," she spat.

Jayne shook her head, annoyed. She'd known they should have kept their noses out of this. Sam held up a hand in surrender, and Dean nodded. "We rarely drink before ten, anyway," he quipped, as the three of them turned towards the door.

"Wait!"

Jo's voice rang out behind them, and Jayne cringed. She did not want to get involved in this; she did not want to give an opinion. She did not want _anything_ to do with Jo.

"I want to know what they think about this," Jo said, snatching a file folder off the bar and marching towards the three of them.

"I don't care what they think!" Ellen bellowed.

The front door swung open just then, and Jayne whirled around to eyeball the newcomers. A family of four, all wearing bright yellow tee shirts with "Nebraska is for lovers," emblazoned on the front, burst into the dark, hole-in-the-wall tavern. The father frowned at Jayne, who looked away. He then surveyed the other four people in the room. "Are you guys open?" he asked.

"No!" Jo shouted.

"Yes!" Ellen barked.

Jayne tried not to laugh, but the snort that escaped earned her dark glowers from both Ellen and Jo. The family backed away towards the door. "We'll just check out the Arby's down the road," the man said.

Once the tourists were gone, the phone started ringing. Jayne raised her eyebrow at the mother-daughter pair, both of whom were refusing to answer it. They glared at one another as the phone continued to ring and ring and ring, until Ellen finally got pissed off enough to march behind the bar and answer it.

"Harvelle's," she grunted into the receiver.

Jo seized the opportunity and walked up to Dean. "Last week, some young girl disappeared at a Philadelphia apartment," she announced, holding out the folder. He stared at the thing like it was a grenade.

"Take it!" Jo hissed, shaking the folder. "It won't bite!"

Dean cocked his eyebrow. "No, but your mom might."

Jo stared back, annoyed, and continued holding out the folder. Sam glanced at Jayne, who held up her hands, trying to indicate that she wanted to be left out of it.

She so wasn't going to get her wish.

Dean finally rolled his eyes and took the folder. "This girl wasn't the first," Jo explained as Dean started leafing through the report. "Over the past eighty years, six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes. Only happens every decade or two, so the cops never eyeballed a pattern. So, we're either dealing with one very old serial killer, or…"

"Who put this together?" Dean interrupted. "Ash?"

Jo straightened her spine and tossed back her hair. "I did it myself."

There was a moment of silence. Dean looked mildly impressed, but he clearly wasn't going to express it to the aspiring hunter. Jayne frowned at him as he looked back down at the case file, and then she looked at Jo. Her eyes were fixed on Dean.

Jayne clenched her fists at her sides, and then folded her arms over her chest. "You have to admit," Sam spoke up. "We've hit the road for a lot less."

"Good," Ellen snapped, rejoining the discussion. "You like the case so much, you take it."

"Mom!" Jo protested.

"Joanna Beth, this family has lost enough," Ellen retorted. "I _won't_ lose you too."

Everything got quiet and uncomfortable then. Jo looked at the floor, and Ellen glared at all of them.

"I just won't," she insisted.

Another moment of quiet descended on the tavern, and then Dean shut the folder. "All right, I guess we're going to Philadelphia," he said.

Jo gave him an outraged look. "Good," Ellen returned. "Safe hunting. Jo, finish pulling down those chairs."

Jayne had to smirk when Jo petulantly stomped her foot and stormed out of the room. Ellen watched her go, and then lifted her eyebrows at the three hunters standing in her bar. "One for the road?" she asked. It wasn't an offer – it was a dismissal.

"No, thanks," Dean replied. "We're good."

"See you later, Ellen," Sam added.

Jayne nodded at her. "Later," she agreed.

The three of them headed outside, marching towards the car. Sam and Dean were up ahead of her, joking around. Jayne slid her cell phone out of her jeans and dialed Lynn's number.

"Hey," she greeted her sister. "We got a hunt. Meet us in Philadelphia?"

* * *

><p>Lynn leaned on a light post outside of a tiny diner in Guthrie, Oklahoma and lit a cigarette. It was not the diner where Andy's ex-girlfriend Tracy worked – she, Steve and Andy had made a conscious decision to avoid that particular place. Tracy wasn't comfortable around any of them, and Lynn was pretty sure the sight of her broke Andy's heart.<p>

She and Steve had been with Andy for less than two days now. Her sister had pulled out of Guthrie with the Winchesters only yesterday, although it had been very early in the morning. She and Steve were meeting Andy at this diner for a mid-morning breakfast.

Steve was already inside the diner. She could see him through the front window, leaning back in the booth with his arm propped on the sill. He was leafing through a menu and nursing a cup of coffee. Andy wasn't there yet.

Lynn breathed out a slow cloud of smoke, watching it spiral up against the clear blue sky. She was afraid she had been next to no help when it came to Andy. Sure, she and Steve had stuck around and tried to make him feel a little better about his situation. They'd helped him clean up the mess with cops back on the bridge. They'd told him the little they knew about the yellow-eyed demon and his plans for people like Andy.

But they couldn't _really_ help him with anything, Lynn had realized late the night before. She should have figured that out from the start.

Her cell vibrated against her thigh. Sighing, Lynn dug the phone out of her jeans and glanced at the display. Jayne was calling.

"What's up?" she greeted her sister.

"Hey," Jayne drawled into the receiver. "We got a hunt. Meet us in Philadelphia?"

Lynn snorted. "A hunt already? Wow, you guys don't waste any time."

"Whatever. You coming or not?"

Lynn sighed and stared at the diner window, watching her brother. "Well… maybe. Want to tell me what the hunt _is_?"

"Some apartment building blonde chicks tend to disappear from. Jo gave us the tip."

"Jo?" Lynn asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Jayne grunted, and Lynn detected some small hint of animosity in her tone. "She put it all together. Was fixing to work the job herself until Ellen went ape-shit."

Lynn laughed out loud. "Jo wanted to work the case? What, alone?"

"I don't know. Guess so."

"But… she's a waitress."

"Yeah. Anyway, we stole the gig. You coming?"

Lynn sighed. She looked up and down the street. Still no Andy. Steve was drumming his fingers impatiently on the windowsill now.

"I'll come," she said. "Steve probably won't."

"Wasn't counting on that."

"Give me the address."

Jayne rattled off the street number. Lynn jogged three feet to where she'd parked the truck and dug pen and paper out of the glove compartment. "OK," she said once she had it written down. "I'll meet you guys there."

"Cool."

Jayne hung up the phone then, leaving Lynn frowning at the paper in her hand. Something was seriously up with her sister.

She tucked the paper back into the glove compartment and then stubbed out her cigarette on the sidewalk with the toe of her boot. Then she jogged up to the diner door and ducked inside.

Steve waved at her the moment she stepped over the threshold. She ambled to his table and took a seat across from him. "Hey," she said.

"What's up?" Steve asked, taking another sip of coffee.

"Jayne called."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Already?"

Lynn shrugged. "They have a job. Philadelphia. Missing persons. Apparently it was all Jo's idea. Want to come?"

Steve looked slightly interested. "Jo?"

"Yeah. She apparently has some sort of secret ambition to be a hunter. Color me blown away."

Her brother smirked at her. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?"

"Petty."

Lynn glared at him and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about. Are you coming?"

Steve shrugged. "Jo coming along?"

"No. Ellen would never stand for that."

He nodded at that, looking down at the coffee. "No offense, sis, but I think I'll pass. Dumb and Dumber don't really do it for me."

Lynn raised her eyebrow at him. "I wish you'd try and get along with them. Sam and Dean are a part of our lives now, and you're going to have to get used to it."

Steve made a face. "Why?"

She frowned at him. "What do you mean, why?"

"I mean, why do I have to get used to it? How long do you plan on riding with them anyway? They ain't family; they're just friends. Barely friends. If anything, I call this shit a temporary alliance. So why should I get used to it?"

That stung. Lynn blinked at her brother, working her lower jaw in tiny circles as she mulled over his comments. In a way, he was right, but he was also very wrong. Still, she had to wonder… when all this demon crap was over, what _were_ they going to do?

Instead of admitting that Steve was right and she was worried, Lynn simply tossed her hair again and glared at him. "I don't expect you to understand. But we've been with them so long now… I don't know. Yeah, they're not family, but… they're kind of starting to feel like it."

Steve snorted. "Well, you better hope they feel the same way."

That stung too. She glared at the tabletop, wishing he wasn't getting to her. Steve sighed, rubbing his forehead. "So… you bailing on Andy, or what?"

Lynn shrugged. "I don't know. I guess so. I mean, now that we're here… I find I don't really know what to do."

Steve nodded slowly. "I get that. We don't know a lot more than he does, so… helping him is hard."

"Right. And… I don't know. I think he was glad we stayed, but towards the end of the day… it was kind of like he didn't want us around anymore?"

"I don't blame him. We're a freaking curse."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true. Everywhere we go bad things happen. He should wave a cross at us or something, all while running the fuck away."

"You're being an asshole."

The bell over the diner door dinged, and Lynn looked over her shoulder to see who'd walked in. Andy had finally arrived, and he approached their table with a friendly smile, his hair mussed in all directions, wearing the same shirt he'd worn yesterday.

"Geez," Steve mumbled. "Guy's a train wreck."

"Can it," Lynn hissed.

Andy plopped himself down at their booth, next to Lynn. "What's up?" he greeted them.

Lynn glanced at Steve, who looked out the window. She rolled her eyes and then turned to Andy. "Hey," she said, trying to smile. "Andy…"

His grin vanished. "Oh my god," he exclaimed. "You guys are leaving."

She winced. "Look, I'm sorry…"

"We're not leaving," Steve cut her off. "Just Lynn."

Lynn glared at him, and then frowned at him in confusion. Steve glanced at her, and then turned his attention on Andy. "Lynn's got to meet our sister. She's got a hunt. But I'm not coming, so… if you need me to stick around, I will."

She couldn't help it – Lynn would have never expected this out of her brother. She gawked at him incredulously, but he ignored her. Andy was quiet for a moment, mulling over the offer as he studied the table.

"Honestly?" he said after a while. "I don't think I really _need_ you to stay, you know? Like, what are you going to do? Babysit me for a few more days just in case I start offing people?"

Lynn smiled in spite of herself. Even her brother offered up a grin. Andy shrugged. "I guess the thing is, I'm afraid to be alone right now. You know? And, like… like there's nothing you can do here, man. I just… I mean…"

"You kind of want him to stay?" Lynn supplied.

Steve glared at her. Andy laughed sheepishly. "I don't know, man! Maybe."

They talked a little bit more, but nothing was really said and no final decisions were made. The waitress came over, poured coffee for Lynn and Andy, and then took their orders. Once she left, Andy excused himself and headed for the restrooms.

Lynn met her brother's eyes over her coffee. "So?" she asked him. "Are you staying?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. Looks that way."

She nodded slowly and sipped from her warm mug. Steve leaned back against the booth and turned his eyes on the window again.

"I'm heading out after this," she told him. "To meet Jayne."

He nodded. "Ok. Be safe and all that."

She forced a smile. "Right back at you."

* * *

><p>The apartment building in Philadelphia where Jo had sent them was old and rundown. Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow at the exposed brick and quick drywall job. He could see where the owners had tried to maintain the building's old urban feel, but it left the complex gray, cold and dismal.<p>

He, Jayne and Dean were inside, standing in the corridor. Sam knelt before the door of the missing girl's apartment. The hall had hardwood flooring and pale gray walls. As Dean and Jayne stood on either side of him, watching each end of the hallway, Sam picked the lock.

The lock wasn't exactly top of the line, and Sam popped the door open in a manner of seconds. Slowly, he pushed open the door and stepped carefully into the apartment. Jayne and Dean followed close behind him. The apartment was wide and spacious, with high ceilings and a large wall of windows directly across from the entrance. Pale gray like the hall, except for where the red brick was exposed, most of the apartment features were in one room – large living area in front of them, and a kitchenette on their direct right. A hallway several feet from the door disappeared into the bedroom.

Once Sam could be fairly certain that they were alone, Dean gently pushed the door shut and Sam pulled out the EMF reader from inside his coat.

"I feel kind of bad snaking Jo's case," Sam admitted.

Jayne made no comment and wandered away to another part of the main room. Dean pushed past Sam. "Maybe she put together a good file," he admitted. "But could you see her out here, working one of these things?" He scoffed. "I don't think so."

"Why not?" Jayne asked.

Sam glanced at her in surprise. Jayne wasn't looking at either him or his brother. Her eyes were on the far wall, and she was moving lazily alongside it, studying it.

Dean frowned at her back. "You're kidding, right? Because she's an amateur! A waitress in a rundown tavern, who's never worked a case in her entire life. That's why."

"So?" Jayne retorted, turning around and staring him down. "We all got to start somewhere."

Sam stared at her, and then at Dean, and then at Jayne again. The two of them glared at each other from opposite ends of the room. Sam swallowed nervously and raised an eyebrow.

What the hell was going on with Jayne and his brother, anyway?

"So you think she should have come out here?" Dean asked dangerously. "Worked this job, against her mother's wishes… alone?"

"No," Jayne shrugged. "Not alone. But… I still don't see why she shouldn't hunt if she wants to hunt."

Her words almost sounded rehearsed, Sam noted. Carefully calculated to jab Dean in the spots that would make him most furious. Sam wasn't really sure _why_ Dean was getting so worked up over all this, but Jayne seemed to understand what would piss him off best, and she was using it.

Why? That was anyone's guess.

Dean glared at her and opened his mouth, clearly ready to shoot back with a scathing retort. Sam intervened. "Ok, well none of that really matters because we're here and Jo's not," he said. "So… let's not fight about it and get to work."

Jayne shrugged and turned her back on them both. Sam frowned at her. She didn't look like she gave a damn. She seemed like her usual, apathetic self. A little moody, maybe a bit more quiet than usual – although Jayne was always quiet, so it was hard to be sure. But something was off.

Something was off about Dean too. He angrily shook his head and stormed away from both Jayne and Sam, headed for the wall. Sam sighed and started running the EMF over whatever was closest to him.

"Getting anything?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam murmured, turning towards the wall too. He lifted the EMF in the direction of the nearby light switch. "Not yet."

Suddenly, the lights glowed red, and the EMF made a high-pitched whirring sound. Frowning, Sam leaned in closer. The light switch had no plate covering, and he could see the wires around the metal switch. There was odd black goo congealing all around it.

"What is that?" Sam asked out loud, vaguely disgusted. He scrunched up his nose and poked at the goo. The sticky black glop stuck to his fingertip like tar.

Both Dean and Jayne had joined him now, one on either side. They leaned in close, studying the guck. Sam gawked at the black stuff on his finger. "Holy crap," he exclaimed.

Jayne raised an eyebrow at his finger. Dean reached out and poked at the goop too. He frowned at his hand as he pulled it back with a dollop of black muck on stuck to it. "That's ectoplasm," Dean announced.

Jayne let out a low whistle. "That can't be good."

Dean shook his head. "Well, I think I know what we're dealing with here. It's the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I've only seen this stuff like… twice. I mean... to make this stuff you have to be one majorly pissed off spirit."

They all took a beat to absorb the find. Jayne leaned against the wall on her hip, crossing her arms over her chest, and stared at the floor. Sam made a face at the ectoplasm and tried to shake it off his finger.

"All right," Dean spoke up. "Let's find this badass before it snatches anymore girls."

He led the way to the front door. The three of them ducked out into the hallway, glancing about furtively for any observers. Sam gently shut the door behind them, and then the three of them took off down the hall.

"So… where exactly are we going?" Jayne asked dryly, lagging behind Sam and his brother.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at her, but Dean ignored the question. "I don't know," he murmured. "Dean? Do you think we should talk to the super first, or track down local zoning records?"

Dean didn't get a chance to answer. The sound of footsteps echoed from the down the hall and around the corner. Instinctively, all three hunters pressed themselves into a dark, recessed doorway in hopes of hiding from the newcomers. Sam heard a woman's voice, followed by a man's.

"Yeah, it's a great building," the man was saying. "Fixed it up real nice. All the apartments come furnished too."

"It is so spacious. You know, my friend told me I had to come and check this place out, and I have to admit she was right. You did a really good job with this place."

Sam frowned, and turned to look at Dean. His brother gawked back, and they both ducked their heads back out into the hall. Jayne didn't move. The woman in question came around the corner with the man. She had wavy blonde hair and wore a gray jacket.

It was Jo.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean demanded.

"Hi honey," Jo greeted him sweetly, sashaying right up to him and folding herself into his side. Sam frowned, confused, but Dean went absolutely bug-eyed. Jo grinned at the man – the building super, Sam decided. "This is my boyfriend Dean and his friends Sam and Jayne."

The man grinned at Dean. "Quite a gal you got there."

Jayne scoffed from behind Sam. Dean forced a painful looking grin for the stranger and squeezed Jo just a little too tight. "Yeah, she's a pistol," he practically growled.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder at Jayne. She shrugged apathetically at him, and looked away.

"So, did you already check out the apartment?" Jo asked Dean, not even looking at him. Dean frowned incredulously down at the top of her head, and Jo rolled her eyes. "The one for rent?" she elaborated.

"Ye…yeah… yes!" Dean stumbled over his words, and forced another painful grin. "Loved it. Great flow."

The super frowned. "How'd you get in?"

"It was open," Dean replied quickly.

The super didn't look like he bought that for a moment. Sam winced slightly and looked at Jayne again. She was shaking her head and eyeing the ceiling, looking torn between amusement and exasperation.

"So Ed," Jo swooped in smoothly, cutting off any further questions Ed might have had. "When did the last tenant move out?"

"Uh, about a month ago," Ed told her. "Cut and run too. Stiffed me for the rent."

"Well, her loss, our gain," Jo smirked. "Because if Dean-o loves it, that's good enough for me."

"Oh, sweetie," Dean drawled sarcastically.

Jayne rolled her eyes and Sam just managed to hide a smile at her nauseated expression. "I swear I'll barf," she muttered at him.

Sam barely stifled a guffaw.

Jo pulled a hunk of cash out of her coat pocket and held it out to the super. "We'll take it," she announced.

Sam's jaw dropped. Jayne widened her eyes slightly and raised her eyebrow. Dean's shocked expression was priceless.

Jo smirked. Ed looked equally impressed. His gaze was fixed on the stack of bills he was now holding in his hands. Quickly, he shoved it in his pocket.

"Ok," he grinned at them.

And that was how Jo took her case back.

* * *

><p>Dean slammed his duffel bag down on the kitchen table, pissed beyond belief. It did not help matters that the kitchen table was in an airy, loft-like apartment in a complex where young blonde women mysteriously vanished, and that the apartment had been bought and paid for by Jo Harvelle, who was supposed to be tucked away safely in her mother's bar in Nebraska.<p>

Jo looked immensely pleased with herself, and that was pissing him off too. Sam, who had been rather amused when Jo had first arrived, now seemed to realize exactly what Jo's appearance in Philadelphia meant for them and the case, and subsequently, his smirk was gone. He sat quietly at the kitchen table now, cleaning his weapons. Dean took a seat on the table top and started doing the same.

Jayne was quiet and distant, and leaning against the kitchen counter, trying to be as far away from the rest of them as possible without actually leaving the room. But that didn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe she didn't care that Jo was here. After all, she'd been quiet and distant the whole freaking day.

He knew why, of course. Deep down, he even knew that he was an asshole. He had fucked up, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to fix it.

He didn't know how.

"I'll flip you for the sofa," Jo smirked at him.

Dean glowered at her. "Does your mother even know you're here?" he snapped.

Jo shrugged carelessly. "I told her I was going to Vegas."

Dean snorted. "You think she's going to buy that?"

"I'm not an idiot," Jo retorted, glaring him over her case file. "I got Ash to lay a credit card trail all the way to the casinos."

She looked pretty proud of that too, and Dean didn't like it. See, he liked Ellen. Maybe he didn't always show it – maybe sometimes she pissed him off, like when she bulldozed her way into their family business. But Jo had a pretty awesome mother, even if she couldn't see it.

He was also pissed that she was here, period. This was no place for Jo Harvelle.

"You know, you shouldn't lie to your mom," he told her. "And you shouldn't be here, either."

He returned his attention to cleaning and piecing together his pistol. Jo looked at him like he'd clearly lost his mind, and then shot looks at Sam and Jayne as if to ask, 'is he for real?'

Dean didn't see what sort of looks they gave her back, but the expression on Jo's face made him think they weren't exactly encouraging.

"Well, I am," she finally said. "So untwist your boxers and deal with it."

"Where'd you get all that money from, anyways?" Sam asked suspiciously.

Jo shrugged. "Working at the Roadhouse."

Dean scoffed. "Hunters don't tip that well."

Jo smirked. "Well, they aren't that good at poker, either."

A short laugh was heard from the back of the room. Dean glared over his shoulder at Jayne, who was still lurking by the counter. She was trying not to smirk, but it was a failure. Her amusement was all over her face.

"You think this is funny?" he snapped.

Jayne raised her eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest. "Do I think this is funny?" she repeated, slowly and condescendingly. "What, exactly? The tiny blonde _amateur_ being completely unaffected by your _crap_? Yeah, Dean. I guess I think it's hilarious."

She didn't think it was hilarious, if her cold, detached tone were anything to judge by. Jayne wasn't amused by Jo's arrival – Jayne was pissed at _him_, and determined not to take his side, even if secretly, she agreed with him.

Well, Dean was in no mood for her crap, either.

His ringtone sounded out then, echoing through the apartment. Dean glared at Jayne, and then at Jo, and then he got off the table and answered his phone. "Yeah?"

"Is she with you?" Ellen's voice demanded into his ear.

He didn't smile, but suddenly his world felt like it was made of candy. "Oh, hi, Ellen!" he greeted her, louder than necessary.

Jo's smirk vanished, and obvious panic took its place. It was very satisfying. "She left a note she's in Vegas," Ellen said. "I don't buy it for a second."

Her daughter rushed at him, leveling an angry finger at his chest, hissing. "_Don't tell her._"

"Oh, I'm telling her," he whispered back, covering the receiver.

She hissed at him some more and he whispered angrily back, and then Ellen asked, "Dean?"

"Haven't seen her," he lied.

"You sure about that?"

She knew. Dean could feel it in his gut. He was a damn good liar, but Ellen had some kind of motherly, sixth-sense bullshit detector built into her eardrums.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Well, please. If she shows up, you'll drag her butt right back here, won't you?"

"Absolutely," Dean replied, almost gleefully.

"Ok. Thanks, hon."

Ellen hung up, and so did he. Jo stared at him for a moment, and then she flashed him a slow, falsely bright, shit-eating smile.

He kind of wanted to throttle her.

"Great," Jayne growled from the back. Dean looked at her, but she didn't look at him. "So she's staying. Let's get to work now, because you two and your antics are boring me."

Dean smirked at her and opened his mouth to retort. Jayne cut him off. "Jo?" she asked, ignoring him completely. "What you got on this place?"

Jo looked surprised that she was being addressed. That surprise faded into a genuine smile, and she practically danced back to the table. Dean watched incredulously as she dug maps and newspaper clippings out of her knapsack, setting them out on the table and then dropping her bag on the floor.

Sam had wide eyes as he stared down at the array of research laid before him. "Wow," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes and started pacing. Jayne didn't move from her corner. Jo took a seat at the table, and pulled a short, ugly little knife out of her boot. She started twiddling it around as she frowned down at her papers.

"This place was built in 1924," Jo announced. "It was originally a warehouse, converted into apartments a few months ago."

"Yeah?" Dean grunted at her. "What was here before 1924?"

"Nothing," Jo replied. "Empty field."

Sam picked up one of Jo's papers and frowned at it. "So, most likely scenario," he murmured. "Someone died bloody in the building, and now he's back and raising hell."

Jo shook her head. "Already checked. In the past eighty-two years, zero violent deaths – well, unless you count a janitor who slipped on a wet floor."

Sam chuckled slightly. Jayne shifted uncomfortably on the counter. Dean paced some more.

"Would you sit down, please?" Jo demanded.

Dean froze and glared at the back of her head. She didn't bother turning around. Finally, he shrugged and took a seat across from his brother. "So did you check for police reports?" he asked. "County death records?"

"Obituaries, mortuary reports, and seven other sources," Jo interrupted him, rolling her eyes. "I know what I'm doing."

Dean smirked at her. "Jury's still out on that one."

Jo rolled her eyes again and looked over at Sam, still playing with that damn knife. Sam smiled slightly and looked back down at the papers.

"Put the knife down," Dean smirked.

Jo turned back to him and raised her eyebrow. Slowly, she put the knife down on the table, looking amused.

"So, uh, it's something else, then," Sam announced, attempting to end the stand-off. "Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it?"

Jo frowned. "Well, then we've got to scan the whole building. Everywhere we can get to, right?"

"Right," Dean agreed. "So, you and me will take the top two floors."

"We'd move faster if we split up," Jo pointed out, getting to her feet and stepping in front of him. He stopped short, their chests almost pressed up against one another.

Dean smirked. "Oh, this isn't negotiable."

They stared one another down. Jayne snorted, and Dean looked up in time to see her rolling her eyes. "Can we just do this?" she asked in annoyance.

"Excellent idea," Sam intervened smoothly, pushing himself out of his seat.

Before anyone could do anything else, however, quiet scratching noises sounded from the door. Dean frowned towards the entrance, listening to the scratching and clicking noises. The doorknob was moving from side to side ever so slightly.

Jo frowned. "What's going on?" she whispered.

Jayne snorted again. "Lynn."

Sure enough, there was a click, and the lock came undone. Slowly, the door was pushed open, and Dean caught sight of Lynn's dark eyes peering around the edge of the door… although they were much lower than they should have been.

She huffed loudly and pushed the door open all the way. "Seriously?" she demanded, getting up off her knees and brushing dirt off her jeans. "One of you assholes could have opened the door!"

Dean smirked. "Hey, Lynn," he greeted her. "Welcome back."

"Shut up," she retorted, glaring at each of them in turn.

"You could have knocked," Jayne pointed out.

Lynn huffed again. "How was I supposed to know you idiots were squatting? I was trying to avoid any possible tenants!"

"Oh, we're not squatting," Jayne informed her. "This place is bought and paid for."

Lynn scoffed. "Please. Do I look stupid? With what money?"

Jayne jerked her head at Jo. "She footed the bill."

"You're welcome," Jo added sardonically.

Lynn seemed to see Jo for the first time. She frowned, blinked, and tilted her head to the side, folding her arms over her chest. "Jo?" she asked.

Jo nodded. "Hey."

Dean raised an eyebrow at them both. Lynn crinkled up her nose at Jo, paused, and then said, "Don't take this wrong way or anything, but… uh… what the hell are you doing here?"

Jo tilted her chin towards the ceiling, and then she too crossed her arms. "This is my case, and there's no way the four of you are working it without me."

There was a short pause. Everyone avoided eye contact with Jo and shuffled about awkwardly. Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Jayne cut him off.

"Well, all right then," she announced, her voice dripping with irony. "I'm sold. Let's get a move on, already."

She turned her back on all of them and headed for the door. "Whoa, where are we going?" Lynn demanded. "Um… just got here! Want to give me some details?"

"Jo and I take the top two floors," Dean said again. "Sam, you got the bottom, and Jayne and Lynn, you two can take the middle."

Sam nodded, grabbing his coat. Jo rolled her eyes again, but she got her coat too and didn't argue this time. Jayne kept walking for the door, but Lynn stopped her by grabbing her arm.

She looked confused and annoyed at everyone. Dean guessed he couldn't blame her – she was behind on the story and couldn't possibly understand what all the tension in the room was about. So when Lynn laughed, he frowned at her in surprise. "You and Jo?" she asked, looking straight at Dean. "Seriously? _Why?_"

Dean glared at her. "You're kidding, right? She's an amateur!"

Jo tossed her hair and gave him a mean little smirk. "I don't suppose you're going to stop saying that anytime soon."

Lynn made a face at him. "Duh. I get _that_; she has no idea what she's doing!"

Jo redirected the smirk at Lynn. "Thank you."

"But that's not my point. Why does she have to go with _you_? Why not Sam? Why not me? I just thought you and Jayne would end up together, like you always do. You know, pretending to fight, making jokes at one another's expense… totally flirting…"

"All right, let's go. We're losing daylight," Jayne barked, cutting her sister off. She grabbed Lynn by the arm and hauled her forcibly out of the apartment.

"Jayne! What are… all right, fine! Nice seeing everyone! God!"

The two of them disappeared down the hallway. Dean could hear their echoing voices fading as they got farther away from the apartment, continuing to bicker.

Dean couldn't keep the heat out of his ears. He tried to act unaffected by Lynn's comments, but it wasn't working. Jo was staring at him, eyebrow raised, and Dean refused to return the look.

Unfortunately, he did catch Sam's eye. Sam raised his eyebrows too, an uncontrollable smirk spreading across his face. He was clearly trying not to laugh at his brother's expense.

Damn it, Lynn.

"Let's just go!" he demanded, snatching his coat off the back of his chair and marching for the door.

Jo and Sam followed at a distance. Dean shrugged into his jacket and ran his hand over his hair, trying to focus on the case.

He couldn't.

* * *

><p>"What is your problem?"<p>

Lynn's voice echoed around the empty corridor as she stared incredulously at her older sister's back. Jayne was ahead of her, EMF reader in hand, scanning everything they passed. At Lynn's question, she stopped short and got all tense.

"Nothing," Jayne returned tightly, without turning around. Then she started walking again.

Lynn rolled her eyes and followed Jayne down the hall. She had been in Philadelphia for a grand total of two hours, and she was officially confused and lost. Ever since she'd shown up at the address Jayne had given her over the phone, nothing had made any sense to her.

"Aren't we going to talk about the hunt?" Lynn demanded, still following her sister down the hall. The hallway was gray and dim and depressing, and Lynn decided that this was a perfect place for a ghost to hang out.

"What's to talk about? I told you, the place is probably haunted. The ghost likes snatching young blonde girls."

"Ok, so… what are we scanning the place for?"

Jayne glanced over her shoulder and sighed. "Jo already went over the place's history, and couldn't find a record of any violent deaths. So Sam thinks the spirit might be attached to a cursed object. Hence the building-wide scanning."

Finally, a reasonable answer. It was like pulling teeth getting Jayne to talk about this stupid place and this stupid hunt. Lynn nodded, and quickened her pace, falling into stride alongside her sister. "Ok, so that's all the leads we've got so far?" she asked.

Jayne nodded.

"You know, Jo kind of fits the victim type," Lynn observed. "Young and blonde."

"Yeah, I think that's why Dean won't let her out of his sight," Jayne replied, her voice distant and her eyes on the EMF. "Besides the whole inexperienced thing."

"What is Jo even doing here?" Lynn demanded. "I mean, when you called you said she wasn't coming; that you guys stole the gig."

"Well, she wasn't supposed to come," Jayne grumbled. "But she headed out right after we left and showed up here all on her own. Lied to her mom and said she was going to Vegas."

"Ellen bought that?"

"No."

They were quiet a moment, shuffling down the hall and watching the EMF. Lynn sighed. "Ok, let's have it out. What's going on with you and Dean?"

Jayne gave her a sideways look that Lynn didn't buy for a second. "What are you talking about?"

Lynn scoffed. "You two are being totally weird."

"You were with us for a grand total of five seconds!"

"Yeah, I know! That's how weird you guys are being; I picked up on it immediately!"

Jayne rolled her eyes and walked faster. "Whatever."

There was a brief moment of silence. Lynn pressed her lips tightly together, blowing air through her nostrils, and tried to broach the subject again. "You know, Jo's not the only one here who fits victim type," she pointed out.

"What do you mean?" Jayne asked.

It was Lynn's turn to roll her eyes. "Jayne, come on. Young and blonde? That's you."

"No! I'm not… I'm…"

"You are," Lynn interrupted. "Deal with it."

"Whatever."

There was another moment of silence, and then Lynn pressed on. "I'm just saying, the last time we hunted something that went after young blonde chicks, _you_ were the one Dean wouldn't let out of his sight."

"Yeah, well, that was different," Jayne replied, even though Lynn could see her bristling under her too cool, unbothered exterior. "That was demon stuff. That thing was… that thing was way more powerful than a vengeful spirit. And we were actively using me as bait, and it was actively going after _me_, not just any young blonde girl, so…"

Jayne trailed off and swallowed too hard. Lynn raised an eyebrow at her sister's attempts at rationalization, not convinced for a moment. "So, add to that Jo's zero-level of experience, and the fact that I know what I'm doing, and Dean keeping an eye on Jo makes a lot more sense," Jayne finished. She sounded rather proud of herself for thinking all that up, and Lynn didn't blame her. The argument was so solid that Lynn might have believed it, if she'd been somebody else.

Might have, but definitely did not.

"Yeah, I don't buy that," Lynn retorted. "Seriously, what is up with you two?"

Jayne ignored her and changed the subject. "So how was Steve?"

Lynn raised her eyebrow, but let Jayne get away with dodging. "He's fine," she said. "He says hi."

Jayne snorted. "No, he doesn't."

"Well, it was implied."

Her sister didn't reply. Lynn sighed, tangling her hand in her hair. "He stayed with Andy," she offered. "Guy was still a little freaked, so…"

"So Steve decided to hang around?" Jayne asked skeptically. "Seriously?"

Lynn shrugged. "Yep."

"And I'm the one acting weird?"

"Yes. You are," Lynn replied jokingly, and then she sobered up. "But so is he. I don't know… it's good, in a way. I'm glad he's trying to be involved with the demon stuff again. You know, looking for answers and reaching out to other people. That's good. But it's not very…"

"Steve?"

"Yeah."

There was a long silence, and then Lynn forced herself to smile. "But maybe he's just trying to be different, you know? Like he realizes the old Steve was wrong a lot, so he's making improvements."

"Sure," Jayne murmured.

They lapsed into silence again. Lynn studied the ground, watching Jayne run the EMF over the walls. Nothing was lighting up, and the reader wasn't making any noises. "You said there was ectoplasm?" she asked, switching gears back to the hunt. "In the wall, around an exposed switch?"

Jayne nodded. "Yep."

"Great. Super pissed off spirit. Not a demon, maybe, but still something we should be concerned about. Could get the drop on us."

"Mm-hmm," Jayne murmured noncommittally.

"If the ectoplasm came from the walls," Lynn went on, frowning. "Then maybe the spirit – or whatever the spirit is attached to – also came from the walls."

"Could be."

"Hey, try running the EMF over the vents."

Jayne made a face at her. "What?"

Lynn rolled her eyes and heaved a harassed sigh. "Gimme," she snapped, snatching the EMF reader out of her sister's hands.

"Are you five?"

She ignored Jayne's snark and knelt before the nearest vent. It was an ancient looking thing, probably as old as the building itself. She suspected it was molded out of antique brass, and it was shaped into several Victorian looking curly-ques. Lynn ran the EMF reader over the vent, and the red lights lit up as the whirring noise sounded.

Lynn smirked triumphantly at her sister. Jayne raised her eyebrow. "All right," she admitted grudgingly. "So it's in the vents. Should we pop her open?"

She shook her head, making a face. "I don't know. I kind of hate to poke at this thing."

"Why?"

"Because, Jaynie, you're this jerk's type, and I don't want to risk pissing it off while you're with me!"

Jayne rolled her eyes and knelt before the vent, shoving Lynn over with her shoulder. "Oh, my God, be more smothering," she grunted, whipping out her pocketknife.

Lynn huffed. "Fine! Make fun of me and ignore my wisdom! But don't come crying to me when the freak snatches you!"

"No one is getting snatched. Hold the flashlight."

"But that's the girl job!"

Jayne ignored her protest and started twisting the screws out of the corners of the vent. Lynn sighed and slumped against the wall, giving up. She held the flashlight half-heartedly in the direction of the vent as Jayne went about dismantling the thing.

Finally, Jayne finished and set the vent cover on the floor. Then she peered into the hole, squinting into the dark corners of the shaft. "Hey, move the light closer," she ordered.

"You didn't say the magic word," Lynn retorted.

Jayne glowered at her out of the corner of her eye. Lynn rolled her eyes and sat up straighter, directing the light into the ventilation shaft. "Fine," she grumbled.

Her sister went back to looking inside the vent, and then the dumbass went and shoved her arm inside the shaft. Lynn widened her eyes, blown away once again by her sister's bordering on stupidity levels of stubbornness. Jayne didn't seem to notice, concentrating on feeling around the inside of the vent.

"Try to angle the light to the left," Jayne said.

Lynn rolled her eyes again, but did as commanded. Jayne continued her search for cursed objects, and Lynn slumped back against the wall, stretching her legs out on the floor and crossing them at the ankles. "You know, I don't get you and Dean."

Jayne shot her an annoyed look. "Again with the me and Dean crap?"

"Seriously," Lynn pressed. "If the two of you want to bump uglies, then how about instead of tiptoeing around one another, pretending to be just friends, and distracting yourselves with Hunter Barbie, you two just… I don't know, bump uglies?"

Jayne made a repulsed face. "Do we have to have this conversation?"

"Yes! You're being stupid, and I hate when you're stupid."

"Shut up," Jayne grunted, and then she smirked at Lynn. "Did you just call Jo 'Hunter Barbie'?"

Lynn shrugged. "Maybe. Are you done feeling up the ventilation system?"

"I think there's something in here," Jayne replied, frowning in concentration as she shoved her arm farther into the wall. Lynn crinkled her nose in disgust. "I can feel it… I just can't get a hold on it."

"What's it feel like?"

"I don't know… soft? Fuzzy?"

"Ew!" Lynn exclaimed. "You realize you're probably touching a dead mouse."

"Got it!" Jayne announced, pulling her arm out of the wall. In her hand was a hunk of blonde, human hair.

Lynn screwed her eyes shut and turned away. "Oh, my god."

"Well, that's gross," Jayne commented casually.

"Is that hair? Please don't tell me that's hair."

"It's hair."

"It's hair, still clinging to a hunk of human skin, isn't it?"

"Yep."

"Are you still holding it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Put it down!"

"Open your eyes!"

Lynn swallowed, hard, trying to compose herself. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and then she turned to look at her sister, cringing the whole way.

"You're still holding it," she observed faintly.

Jayne shrugged, frowning critically at the bloody blonde hair dangling from her fingers. "So… what do we think this means?"

"I think I still want you to put that down!"

Jayne rolled her eyes, but dropped the hair on the floor. "Other thoughts?"

Lynn shrugged, looking at the wall across the way to avoid looking at the hair. "I don't know… I guess the thing's taking keepsakes from its victims. You know, like a serial killer?"

"Awesome," Jayne drawled.

"Yeah, awesome. You _are_ going to throw that thing away, right?"

"Actually, I was thinking about holding onto it," Jayne smirked. "I've always wanted to start a collection of bloody human hair."

"I hate you."

Jayne picked up the vent and started screwing it back onto the wall. "Let's pack it in," she said. "Show the keepsake to the others."

Lynn nodded, focusing on the vent on the other wall. "Ok."

Her sister continued replacing the vent, and Lynn continued staring at the vent on the other wall. They were silent for a while, the only sound in the hallway being the click of Jayne's screwdriver against the metal of the vent. Suddenly, Lynn thought she saw something move behind the other vent.

She jumped, sitting up straighter. Frowning, she stared at the other vent, but she saw nothing else. Jayne glanced at her as she finished tightening the last screw. "What?" she asked.

Lynn shook her head. "Nothing," she breathed. "Let's just get out of here, all right?"

Jayne shrugged and got to her feet. "Ok."

Her sister led the way down the hall, towards the stairs. Lynn stuck close to her, darting glances at the other vents in the hallway, half expecting to see something else creeping along the hallway with them.

She could not get away fast enough.

* * *

><p>Back at the apartment Jo had rented, Jayne found herself once again taking a spot in the background, leaning on the kitchen counter and watching the proceedings rather than joining in them. She was annoyed at almost everyone in the room, but she didn't have the energy or the patience to tell them so.<p>

"Ok, so you guys found a souvenir too," Lynn was saying, although she was very carefully not looking at either sample of bloody blonde hair lying on the kitchen table. It was almost amusing, actually – watching Lynn stand directly at the head of the table with her arms folded over her chest, trying to take control of the group and the hunt, while at the same time being unable to stomach what they'd found in the walls. "So… classic serial killer move, right? We're dealing with a psychotic serial killer ghost."

"But nobody found a cursed object," Sam interjected. "Which means we have no idea who the ghost is, or how to get rid of it."

"Thanks for the sum up," Jo drawled, rolling her eyes. She swept the blonde hairs out of her way without so much as flinching – which, judging by the repulsed expression on Lynn's face, very thoroughly disgusted Jayne's sister – and took a seat at the table, pulling her case folder towards her. "The only thing to do now is look back over the information, try to find something we missed…"

"Or go looking for new information," Sam pointed out. "Maybe we did miss something, but it's not in that folder."

Jo narrowed her eyes defensively at him. "I've been over this building and its history with a fine tooth comb," she retorted, clearly annoyed.

"Right," Dean added sarcastically. "Because you have so much experience with this kind of thing, so obviously there's nothing else out there that you might have skipped over. Sorry, sweetie – I'm not buying it."

Jayne didn't know who she was more annoyed at – Dean or Jo. Jo's real problem, Jayne determined, was her defensiveness when it came to the job. It was to be expected that she might miss something; it was to be expected that she might screw up. This was Jo's first job, and no one was expecting perfection… well, no one expect for Jo.

In the waitress's dreams, Jayne was sure Jo had pictured herself being unaccountably awesome in this line of work, and it had to be hard to hear that maybe she needed a little work before she could become Little Miss Badass. Still, her attitude was pissing Jayne off.

Dean's attitude was pissing her off more, Jayne decided. He was refusing to cut Jo any slack; he was doing his best to discourage her. Points had to be awarded to the girl for refusing to take his crap lying down. Jayne got it in a way; Jo had a chance at normal, and she had a mother who was rooting for her to take that chance. Ever since John passed, Dean seemed to be less in love with the job than ever before. He was jealous of Jo, and angry that Jo couldn't see how good she had it. And Jo had it good; Jayne wasn't going to argue with that.

But it was Jo's right to pick hunting over normal; it was her right to do what she wanted with her life, even if it made her mother unhappy. Jayne knew where Ellen was coming from; she knew what it was like to want certain things for the people you loved, and she knew how hard it was to understand why those people didn't want those things too. But the fact was, Jo didn't want to go to school and she didn't want normal – and she was in no way obligated to do anything she didn't want to do.

If the girl wanted to hunt, then the girl should hunt – and Dean should shut the hell up about it.

Lynn heaved an exasperated sigh at Dean's commentary, and rolled her eyes. "Dean," she said frostily, still trying to maintain the image of being in charge. "Do everyone a favor and stop talking."

Jo smirked at Dean over her shoulder. Lynn tried to take a seat at the table, saw the bloody hairs lying close to the chair she'd been about to sink into, and changed her mind. Sam seemed to notice, and he removed the souvenirs, tossing them onto the counter by his fingertips. The face he made indicated he was equally grossed out. Lynn shot him a grateful smile and took her seat.

"Dean, you said you smelled something off in the upstairs hallway?" she asked, snagging one of Jo's papers and reading through it.

"Yeah," Dean grunted, taking another chair by the table and spinning it around. He took a seat backwards on the chair and leaned towards the table.

"Ozone?" Lynn suggested.

Dean shook his head. "No. It was familiar, but… not ozone. Something else."

Lynn nodded, still frowning at the paper in her hand. Sam took a seat on Lynn's other side and pulled some of the papers towards himself, ready for another read-through. Jo reached into her boot and pulled out the short, squat knife she liked playing with so much. Jayne watched her twiddle the knife between her fingers as she glared at her research. She glanced at Dean. He was staring at Jo, watching the knife move around in the other girl's hand. Jayne dug her nails into her arm and narrowed her eyes at him, all the while doing her best not to care.

"Jayne," Lynn barked. "Would you sit down please?"

She looked up, startled. The command was frighteningly similar to the one Jo had issued to Dean mere hours earlier. Lynn didn't know that, of course. Still, she glowered at her sister and dug in her heels, leaning farther against the kitchen counter. Lynn stared at her, frustration evident on her face, but Jayne didn't move. She raised her eyebrow challengingly, and finally Lynn rolled her eyes and returned to the rest of the group.

Jo watched her out the corner of her eye. Jayne pretended not to notice. "We should look into the history of the neighborhood," she murmured, watching the ceiling. "Or the history of the previous owners… the company that built the warehouse… something might have glommed onto an owner or a developer… a nearby building…"

"That's good," Jo spoke up, nodding. "I hadn't considered that."

Jayne channeled all her energy into not snorting with derision. She wanted to appear cool, calm, and unaffected by Jo's presence. The younger, smaller, obviously less badass blonde was not going to know how badly Jayne did not want her here… and Dean was not going to know how she felt about Jo, or him, or the time the two of them were spending together.

No one was going to know how she felt about any of it.

"It's late," Sam observed. "We're going to have a hard time doing any more research tonight. Let's just crash, grab a few hours of sleep, and start again in the morning."

Lynn nodded. "Sounds like a plan. Seriously so tired from driving, anyway."

"Great," Dean drawled. "You ladies can share the bedroom. Sam and I will flip for the couch."

Jayne made a face. It was on the tip of her tongue to demand the couch… but she didn't. She wouldn't give Dean or Jo the satisfaction.

Not that they actually gave a damn, she was sure. They didn't suspect how she felt, and they wouldn't care if she showed it. They were oblivious, and that's how she was going to keep them.

Jo looked irritated. Clearly, she wasn't ready to let go of the case, even if it was only for the night. Dean grabbed his coat and took orders for dinner, and then disappeared out the door in search of takeout.

Immediately, Jo began discussing the case with Lynn and Sam again. Jayne rolled her eyes and ducked as quietly as possible out onto the fire escape. She stood on the iron grate just outside the large living room window and leaned against the brick wall of the building, staring moodily out into the dark street.

She couldn't wait for this shit to be over.

* * *

><p>Lynn mussed her damp black hair with a towel, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at the chair and ottoman in the corner of the apartment's single bedroom. She tossed an extra blanket over there too, and then returned to the queen bed in the center of the room, where she'd left her duffel bag.<p>

As she dug around for her toothbrush, Jo watched her from the other side of the bed, where she was rifling through her knapsack. The petite blonde raised an eyebrow at the chair and ottoman. "You sleeping there?" she asked skeptically.

"No," Lynn retorted, barely looking at her. "But Jayne will. You and I are sharing the bed, Barbie."

It slipped – sort of. She'd never really intended to call Jo anything other than her name – or so she liked to think. Lynn watched Jo carefully out of the corner of her eye, waiting for the catfight to start. Jo glared at her over the knapsack, but didn't take the bait.

Lynn pouted and returned to finding her toothbrush. She could hear the shower running in the bathroom, where Jayne was washing up. The TV was on in the living room, where Sam and Dean were finishing up the remnants of their dinner.

Dean was another one she was ready to catfight with, but Jo was the one in the room. Lynn frowned at Jo, who removed her own toothbrush and toothpaste from her bag and turned away from the bed.

"I can take the chair," Jo murmured, offhand. "I mean, I want to go over everything one more time anyhow, and I don't know how long I'll be up."

"What's the point?" Lynn asked. "No offense, you did a good job, but I think we need to start looking for more information."

Jo's shoulders went rigid. Lynn rolled her eyes. Honestly, she'd meant it. Jo was doing a pretty good job, considering her zero level of experience. Lynn didn't want the girl there, and she found her presence incredibly annoying, and the effect Jo had on her sister made Lynn want to pull her hair and kick her in the shin, but Jo _did_ have potential as a hunter. She'd have a lot more potential if only she was willing to learn.

"I told you, I checked. I looked everywhere. If there was something to find…"

Lynn heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. "Ok, see, you really need to stop getting defensive about this. You are working your first ever hunt. Right?"

Jo glared at her, but nodded in affirmation. It was a short, stiff, single nod, but it was enough.

"Right, so since this is your first job, no one's expecting you to offer up a perfect performance," Lynn went on. "It's cool if you made a mistake or two. Really. It doesn't mean you're not doing well."

Jo tilted her chin and crossed her arms. "I _know_," she practically snarled.

Lynn sighed again. "Great. You know. So convinced. Jo, you are here to learn. If you don't learn, you're going to get your ass killed. You still have a long way to go, and if you're serious about hunting…"

"God, you and Dean sound _just_ like my mother," Jo interrupted, rolling her eyes. "I've heard enough crap from him today, so I don't really want to hear yours too."

"Well, if Dean and your mother were telling you that you're not ready to hunt alone and you need to take a few lessons with a professional, then they're right," Lynn retorted. "I'm serious; I think you're doing a good job. But we all have to start somewhere. Jayne and I needed our Dad to train us before we started doing solo gigs. Same for Sam and Dean."

Jo didn't offer a reply. She stared sullenly at the carpet with her arms still folded over her chest. Lynn watched her for a moment, waiting for it all to sink in. She liked to think Jo was getting the picture, and that's why she wasn't talking anymore. But there was something else Jo needed to understand.

"And also, stop hitting on Dean," Lynn demanded.

Jo made an incredulous face. "I'm not," she protested.

"Sure you're not," Lynn retorted. "You two aren't doing the 'I hate you so much it's cute,' thing _at all_. All that bickering really starts to look like flirting after a while, just so you know. And it's not your fault, because Dean's totally doing it back, so how the hell are you supposed to know he's taken? Which is why I'm telling you to stop flirting with him, because he sure as hell isn't about to be straight with you. He is in far too much denial to be straight about this."

"Look, even if I was flirting with Dean – which I'm not," Jo replied, tossing her hair angrily. "I don't see how it's any of your business. I mean, I don't see your name on him, so…"

"Whoa, hold on a second," Lynn interrupted, holding up her hand. "I am not telling you to stay away from Dean because _I_ am interested in him."

"Then why would you say anything?"

Lynn sighed and shook her head. "Look, they like to pretend it's not a real thing, but everyone knows how they feel. There's something going on between Dean and my sister, and you can't compete with it."

Jo scoffed. "I wouldn't want to, even if there was."

"There _is_," Lynn insisted. "And… ok, maybe you aren't interested in him. I don't buy that, but if you say you aren't…"

"I'm _not_."

"Great. Then you can stop flirting with him. Consider it a personal favor."

Jo glared at her. "If you're serious about this, then I'm really not the person you should be talking to. The person you should be getting all catty with is Dean, not me."

That hit home. Lynn sucked in a deep breath and blinked. Jo was right – deep down, she knew that. And that pissed her off more than anything.

"And also?" Jo smirked. "Pretty sure you're not that much older than me – if you're older than me _at all_. So how about you stop talking down to me like I'm your kid sister."

Lynn would have made a nasty retort, but Jo had already turned her back on her and marched out of the room. For a moment, she stood there, stunned and angry. Then she heard the shower shut off.

A few minutes later, Jayne appeared in the bathroom door, wearing a tee shirt and a pair of sweats, wringing out her damp hair with a towel. Lynn barely acknowledged her, and Jayne frowned.

"Why do you look like you just got smacked in the face with a Wiffle Ball bat?" Jayne asked dryly.

Lynn titled her head and looked at her sister. Jayne raised her eyebrow. "You know," Lynn announced. "I don't think I like Jo."

Jayne nodded slowly, a mildly amused, tiny smirk crossing her face. "You don't like Jo," she repeated, leaning against the doorjamb and raising her eyebrow.

"No," Lynn replied. "I don't. She's snotty, like a child."

Her sister widened her eyes mockingly and nodded again. "All right, then."

"Also," Lynn added. "She's stubborn, and unwilling to learn. Nothing is more infuriating than an amateur who thinks they know everything."

Jayne covered her mouth with her hand, but Lynn could see the smirk widening. "Mm-hmm," Jayne choked out, clearly trying not to laugh.

"What?" Lynn snapped. "Do you like her?"

Her sister shrugged, but the smirk began to fade. "Aw, she's all right."

"That's not really an answer."

"I don't really know her, that's all. Yeah, she's stubborn and thinks she's better than she is, but isn't that classic newbie stuff? She's got potential, and she'll get over all that."

Lynn glared at her. "You hate her."

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't have to. You used your noncommittal voice. You hate her, and you're trying to act like you don't."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell you don't."

Jayne rolled her eyes, tossed her wet towel back into the bathroom, and walked out into the bedroom, heading for the duffel bag she'd left in the corner. "Whatever."

"It's Dean, right?" Lynn asked, following her. "They flirt with each other, so you hate her, but you won't give her the satisfaction of acting like it."

Jayne made a face. "I couldn't care less who Dean flirts with."

"Bull shit!" Lynn crowed. "You care _so_ freaking much!"

"Do not!"

"Do so!"

"Look, even if I did care," Jayne retorted. "I wouldn't hate Jo. I'd just be royally pissed at Dean, because he's the asshole. Not Jo."

There was a long silence. Lynn stared her sister down through narrowed eyes, once again crossing her arms over her chest. Jayne stood there for a moment, shifting about uncomfortably, and then raised her eyebrow.

"What?" she demanded.

"You _are_ royally pissed at Dean," Lynn announced. "It's very, very obvious. So I'm right; you _do_ care."

Jayne rolled her eyes and crossed the room, duffel in hand, headed straight for the chair by the window. "Do not!"

"Do so!"

"What's it matter?" Jayne demanded, dropping the duffel on the ottoman and throwing up her hands. "Why do you need to hear me say it?"

Lynn was momentarily stunned into silence. Jayne stared at her, awaiting an answer, raising her eyebrows impatiently. There was a long moment of nothing, and then Lynn opened her mouth, closed her mouth, and shrugged.

"I just… I don't know," she replied carefully. "Dean's being a douche."

"I know he is."

"I want to yell at him, and maybe kick him in the shin."

"You go right ahead."

"And Jo's not helping, because I honestly can't believe she is _so_ oblivious that she can't pick up on the huge waves of sexual tension that practically roll off yours and Dean's bodies."

Jayne made another nauseated face. "Ew."

"And I know you think I'm being a silly girl, or whatever, and you don't want to talk about your feelings because feelings are lame, but… I can tell when you're upset, Jaynie. You're my sister, and you're upset, and I don't like it."

It was Jayne's turn to be silent. Lynn stared at her, waiting for her to say something – anything. Jayne just shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, staring distantly at the floor.

"It doesn't really matter," Jayne murmured after a while. "He's… we're nothing. Not really. I just… I don't care anymore. It was stupid to get attached, and I'm done now."

It was the closest thing to an admission that Lynn was going to get. Jayne shrugged and turned her back on Lynn so she could rifle through her duffel bag. "Let's just work the job, ok?"

Lynn wanted to tell her that she wasn't stupid, and that getting attached to people was all right, and that her feelings did matter… but Jayne didn't want to hear any of that, she could tell. Instead, Lynn took a deep breath and blew her hair out of her eyes. She took a seat on the edge of the bed and shrugged at her sister's back.

"Ok," she agreed. "We work the job."

She was totally going to kick Dean Winchester's ass.

* * *

><p>Sam spat toothpaste into the off-white sink and then rinsed out the brush. He frowned at himself in the bathroom mirror. It was very early in the morning, and everyone else was still asleep – except for Jo, who he'd found sitting at the kitchen table in last night's clothes, going over her research and twiddling that little knife of hers.<p>

He'd cleaned up and changed his clothes. Now he ducked out of the bathroom, which was connected to the apartment's single bedroom. Lynn was sleeping on the bed, and Jayne had crashed on a chair and ottoman set in the corner by the window.

Sam made to sneak towards the door, but froze in his tracks when he heard the creak of the bedsprings. He turned slowly and found Lynn sitting up in bed, her hair mussed and hanging around her face. She squinted up at him, her eyelids drooping with sleep.

"Morning," she croaked.

He smiled. "Hey."

Lynn looked around the room, and then frowned at him. "What time is it?" she asked.

Sam shrugged and glanced at his watch. "Uh… five-thirty."

"In the morning?" Lynn asked incredulously. "Oh my god, what is wrong with you?"

Sam laughed in spite of himself. Lynn threw back the covers and clambered out of bed, running a hand through her tangled, wavy black hair. "All right," she said, stretching. "Where we headed already?"

"Uh… I was just going to get coffee…"

"I'll come!"

He blinked as she danced into the bathroom, shutting the door before he had a chance to argue. For a moment, he just stood there in the room, a little shell-shocked. Then he shook his head and ducked out into the living room.

As much as he wanted to pretend that everything was normal and fine with regards to him and Lynn, Sam knew that hadn't exactly been the case. The two of them had been friendly with each other, but there was an undercurrent of awkwardness that hadn't yet gone away. To see Lynn volunteer to spend time with him – _alone_ – was unnerving. Still, he didn't mind the idea so much. Maybe it was a step in the right direction; an attempt to get their friendship back on track.

Dean snored loudly from his uncomfortable position in the recliner, jarring Sam from his raised his eyebrow at the odd pretzel shape into which his brother had twisted himself while sleeping. He glanced over at Jo, who was staring at the papers on the tabletop, one hand tangled in her wavy blonde hair and the other one clutching that stupid little knife again.

"Hey," he greeted her.

Jo glanced at him, shrugged one shoulder, and returned her eyes to her research. "What's up?"

Sam shrugged too, and gestured at the bedroom behind him. "Um… Lynn and I… we're going to get coffee. How do you…?"

"Black, two sugars."

Sam widened his eyes in surprise and nodded. "Ok, then."

There was a long silence. Jo flipped over one page so she could stare at another. Sam frowned at her, and then tried to offer up a friendly smile. "You know, it doesn't matter how many times you read those… they aren't going to change."

Jo glared at him. Sam's attempt at a smile faltered. "I just really want to figure this thing out before any more girls go missing," Jo replied.

"Right," Sam nodded. "Of course."

There was another long, awkward silence. That pretty much summed up this whole hunt, Sam thought ruefully: long and awkward. Jo returned to her papers, and Sam stood quietly by the exit.

Lynn bounded out of the bedroom a few minutes later, dressed and ready to go. "Hey, I'm ready," she told him. Then she saw Jo sitting at the kitchen table and narrowed her eyes. "Jo," she greeted her.

Jo looked up and nodded at her. "Lynn."

Neither one of them was being very friendly to the other. Sam frowned, glancing from Lynn to Jo and back again. "How'd you sleep?" Lynn asked with false cheeriness.

"Not so well," Jo replied ironically. "Seeing as I never went to bed."

Sam blinked. Lynn nodded. "Oh," she returned, tilting her head from side to side. "Well… that was stupid."

Jo whirled her head around to gawk at her. Lynn ignored her and marched straight out the door. "Bye!" she chirped. "Sam? You coming?"

Then she stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door gently behind her. Sam flinched slightly, and then offered Jo an apologetic smile. Jo raised her eyebrow at him, and then glanced at the door.

"Later," Sam said hastily.

Jo smirked. "No rush."

He didn't necessarily deserve that, but Lynn probably did. Sam nodded once, still wearing that apologetic smile, and then he left the apartment. Lynn smiled at him as he stepped into the hall, and then led him towards the stairwell. Sam glanced back at the apartment and then followed her down the corridor.

"So…" he said slowly, two steps behind her as she ducked into the stairwell and started down the steps. "What's up with you and Jo?"

"Nothing," Lynn replied, her voice too bright.

Sam scoffed. "Right. Nothing. That's why you two were brimming over with animosity back there."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sam."

"I kind of think you do."

Lynn shrugged, and hurried down the rest of the steps. Sam followed her out into the ground floor hall, and then they ducked out the rear doors. He hurried to catch up to her before she could round the corner of the building.

"Seriously," he pressed. "Is something going on?"

"Nope," Lynn replied, fussing with her ponytail. She looked up at Sam and gave him a sly smile. "Nothing that's your problem, anyway."

Sam blinked at that. But before he could press the issue further, the two of them had rounded the corner of the apartment building. Lynn froze, her eyes fixed on the street out front of the building. Sam stopped too, frowning.

"Cops," Lynn observed.

"Another victim?" Sam asked.

She shrugged. "We better find out."

Lynn pranced off towards the cop cars. Sam frowned at her back. Something was going on – not just with her, not just with Jo, but with everybody. He wasn't really in the loop – didn't really understand the tension – but he could feel it, and it made him want to quit the hunt and run away from Philadelphia.

He decided to just keep his mouth shut and focus on the job. No good could possibly come from getting involved. Besides, he had his own drama to deal with; there was no need to borrow from anybody else.

Resolve made, Sam squared his shoulders and marched after her.

* * *

><p>Jayne groaned, rolling over in her chair and nearly falling out of it. She blinked sleep out of her eyes and frowned around the bedroom. There was sun streaking in through the window beside her. Slowly, she sat up and tossed her blanket on the ground. She rubbed her aching neck and stumbled to her feet.<p>

The bed was crumpled, and Lynn wasn't in it. Jayne rolled her eyes and grabbed a pair of jeans. A few minutes later, she was dressed, her hair was up, and she was brushing her teeth.

She did not want to be awake. She did not want to be in Philadelphia. The idea of spending the morning with Dean and Jo was vomit-inducing. And as much as she loved her sister, she was not in the mood to hear Lynn talk about feelings today.

Jayne left her toothbrush on the sink and then stepped out of the bedroom. Sam and Lynn were nowhere to be found, and Dean was still asleep on the recliner in the living room. Jo sat at the kitchen table, reviewing her research and looking like she hadn't slept all night. Jayne knew the feeling.

Jo looked up at her and gave her a short, forced smile. "Morning."

Jayne nodded. "Where is everyone?"

"Coffee."

She nodded again and hooked her thumbs in her belt loops. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Jayne glanced at Dean. He hadn't moved from his weird position in the chair.

"I don't know how he sleeps like that," Jo offered, following her eyes.

Jayne shrugged, and looked at the ceiling. "Yeah… he can sleep just about anywhere. Eat just about anything. It's kind of gross, actually."

Jo chuckled once, under her breath. Jayne glanced at her and looked down at the papers on the table. "How'd you sleep?" she asked.

"Didn't," Jo replied.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Just wanted to go over this stuff one more time. See what we missed."

Jayne nodded. She took a few steps towards the table and frowned at Jo's research. "Find anything?"

Jo sighed and played with her little knife. "Nope."

There was another long, awkward silence. Jayne looked around the room, her thumbs still hooked in her belt loops, her eyes settling anywhere that wasn't Dean or Jo.

"We probably need new intel," Jayne offered after a moment, studying the ceiling.

Jo groaned, putting the knife down and rubbing her temples. "Everyone keeps saying that!"

Jayne rolled her eyes and looked down at the floor. "Probably because it's true," she mumbled.

The glower Jo sent her in response was a clear indication she'd heard every last bit of Jayne's mumbling. Jayne sighed and shuffled towards the table, frowning at the papers too.

"You don't like me, do you?" Jo asked.

She looked up at Jo, startled by the question. There was no insecurity in the other woman's voice; in fact, Jo didn't even sound all that angry. Jo asked the question like she was stating a fact.

Jayne shrugged and looked at the nearest stack of papers. "I like you fine."

"Bull shit. You act like you don't care one way or another, but there's this feeling I get off you… like you want me to be anywhere else but here."

"What does it matter if I like you or not?" Jayne snapped.

Jo raised an eyebrow at her, taking up her tiny knife again and twirling it between her palms. "It doesn't, really. Just… I don't really get it. Who cares if I want to hunt? You guys are the ones who took my case, so… I'm here and I'm working it, and I don't know why I'm getting so much static about it."

Jayne shrugged, uncomfortable. She frowned at the table and took a seat in the chair farthest away from Jo. "I don't care if you work this case," she told her. "I don't care if you hunt. That's your right; hell, judging by this file, you might even be good at it."

Jo widened her eyes and scoffed. "Thanks."

"I meant it," Jayne replied. "You got a knack for this stuff. If you want to hunt, you should hunt. I just… I'm not real big on the tutoring thing, so… not loving amateur hour."

The comment was probably uncalled for, judging by Jo's affronted expression. Jayne rolled her eyes and swallowed, bracing herself to explain. "Look, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. It's just that… you being here… you got us involved in family drama with your mom and… now we're like, responsible for you. I didn't sign up for that. If I'd known that was what this hunt was going to be, I would have passed. You should hunt if you want to hunt, and there are plenty of hunters out there who'd be willing to train you… and trust me, you're going to need some training… but I'm not one of those hunters. So… this is annoying for me."

"Annoying for you?" Jo retorted. "I've been on the receiving end of everybody's crap since I got here. You, Sam and Dean stole my case… and then Dean had the nerve to get pissed at me for showing up. Your sister chewed me out last night for things _way_ beyond my control…"

"She did what now?" Jayne interrupted, raising her eyebrow again.

Jo sighed, harassed, and rolled her eyes. "I don't want to get into it. Trust me, you probably don't want to either."

Jayne nodded slowly. "Yeah," she muttered. "You're probably right."

There was a long silence. Jo chuckled and rubbed her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "So… Dean thinks my mom's right, and I shouldn't be out here. I should… go to school… live normal… that hunting sucks way worse than I realize."

Jayne nodded again and made no comment. Jo side-eyed her, raising her eyebrow. "Well?" she asked. "You going to weigh in on that one?"

She shrugged, studied the table, and took a deep breath. Slowly, she let the breath out and leaned back in her seat. "Not my business."

"No opinion?"

"I don't care what you do."

Jo stared at her. Jayne tried to ignore the look, but it was impossible. She rolled her eyes and looked at the other woman. "All right," she said. "Dean? He didn't take his dad's death very well."

Jo raised an eyebrow. "Is there a good way to take your Dad's death?"

Jayne blinked. Slowly, a smile spread across her face. "All right, then. Fair point. Still, Dean's not dealing too well. He used to get off on this job, even on his worse days. Now… I don't know. He's dealing with some stuff and not really talking about it, and I think that's why he told you hunting sucks."

She earned a frown for her explanation. Jayne rolled her eyes again and tried to explain it better. "Hunting _does_ suck," she said. "It sucks a lot. So does every other job in the universe. Most of them won't get you killed, though."

Jo nodded at that and frowned at the table. "So if you could do something else…?"

Jayne scoffed and shook her head. "Look, this job sucks, but… I'd rather do this than anything else. Even on a bad day… I don't know. I just can't see normal in my future. Under any circumstances."

The truth behind that statement left her feeling melancholy. Jayne sunk backwards into her chair and folded her arms over her chest, staring at the far wall. Jo watched her, awaiting further explanation. "Don't listen to Dean," she told Jo. "You shouldn't lie to Ellen; that woman loves you and wants what's best for you, and you shouldn't just ignore that. But…that's no reason not to do what you want with your life."

There was a long silence. Jo was frowning at her, but it wasn't an angry or confused frown. It was critical, like Jo was studying her, trying to see what was underneath her walls. Jayne shifted uncomfortably under the look, and got to her feet.

"So… now that this Hallmark moment is over," she quipped. "I'm going to need some air."

Jayne walked for the living room window and hopped out on the fire escape again. Jo didn't try to stop her or say anything else. Once she was out on the fire escape, away from Jo and Dean and everything else that was suffocating her, Jayne took a seat on the cool metal platform and glared at the building across the busy city street.

It seemed like no matter what happened on this hunt, who she talked to or what was said, it was with Dean that she kept getting so upset.

Maybe it was time to concede defeat – there was nothing left she could do. She was trying to stop giving a crap; trying to rebuild the walls.

Somehow, actually walking away felt harder than sticking around.

* * *

><p>Dean woke up to the sounds of sirens.<p>

Blinking against the early morning sunlight streaming in through the blinds and cutting across his face, Dean attempted to untwist himself from the painful position he'd slept in and sit up straight in the recliner. Clearing his throat and blinking sleep from his eyes, he rolled away from the sun, towards the door.

Jo smirked at him from the kitchen table. "Morning, princess," she greeted him cheekily.

Dean grimaced. "Where's Sam?"

"Went to get coffee."

"Jayne?"

"Fire escape."

He rolled his eyes. "Lynn?"

"With Sam."

Dean gritted his teeth and pulled himself out of the chair. All his muscles ached. "Ugh, my back," he grumbled, rubbing the offending body part. He glared at Jo, who was still sitting at the coffee table and twiddling that dinky little knife around. "How'd you sleep on that big soft bed?"

Jo raised her eyebrows at him, and then looked back down at her collection of papers. "I didn't," she replied.

Dean smirked knowingly. "Lynn," he nodded. "Snores like a grizzly bear?"

Jo stared up at him incredulously. "No, I just never went to bed! I was just… going over everything… how do you know that Lynn snores?"

Her dark eyes were narrowed accusingly at him. Dean held up his hands, drawing his eyebrows together. "So the four of us have bunked in the same room before! Geez."

Jo raised an eyebrow at him. She didn't look like she bought that excuse for a moment – which was unfortunate, seeing as this was the one time Dean actually _had not_ slept with the girl in question. "Seriously," he insisted. "Nothing ever happened."

"Uh-huh," Jo drawled, still not looking convinced. She lowered her eyes back to the research and resumed twiddling her knife.

Dean eyed the little knife for a moment, and then grabbed his bag. Jo looked up in annoyance as he thumped it down on the table and drew a long, sheathed knife out of its depths. He pulled the knife from the cover, revealing the long, wicked looking blade, and then tossed it in the air, catching it by the blade. He held the handle out towards Jo.

"Here," he smirked.

Jo took the knife and raised her eyebrow at him again. "What's this for?"

"It'll work a hell of a lot better than that little pig-stick you keep twirling around."

Jo pursed her lips and cast her eyes down. It was a weird reaction, and Dean frowned until she handed him her little knife. Confused, he took it, spinning in it his hands. He froze when he caught the engraving on the blade – W.A.H.

"William Anthony Harvelle," Jo announced.

Instantly, Dean felt like crap. He handed the knife back. "Sorry. My mistake."

Jo looked a little teary-eyed, and Dean fought the urge to run away. She took the knife and looked back down at the table, handing him his blade back. He slid it into the sheath and tucked it back inside the bag.

"What do you..?"

Her voice caught. Dean looked up at her, startled. Jo stared him straight in the eye. "What do you remember about your Dad?" she asked him. "I mean, what's the first thing that pops into your head?"

Dean wasn't really up for the heart-to-heart stuff at the moment. He'd given Jo a lot of that yesterday, when they'd been searching the top floors together. Crap about Ellen, and hunting, and how finding someone who gave a damn about her might be hard to get later in life, if she turned her back on Ellen now.

Jo stared up at him expectantly, and he simply shook his head, dropping his eyes. She kept staring at him. "Come on," she said, smiling slightly. "Tell me."

He fought it a moment, working his jaw into tight little circles. Dean dropped his eyes again and moved a little further away. "I was six or seven," he told her, sinking into a chair. "And, uh… he took me shooting for the first time. You know, bottles on the fence, that kind of thing… and I bulls-eyed every one of them."

She smiled. He smirked at her, and lowered his eyes back to the table. "He gave me this smile… I don't know…"

Dean trailed off, muttering the last bit. Jo stared at him. "He must have been proud," she told him, almost severely.

He shrugged, although the words struck a chord with him – a chord he didn't even know he had. "How about your Dad?"

Jo looked surprised that he asked. She forced a smile for him. "I was still in pigtails when my Dad died, but… I remember him coming home. From a hunt? He'd burst through that door like… I don't know, like Steve McQueen or something. He'd sweep me up in his arms… and I'd breathe in that old leather jacket of his… My mom was sour and pissed from the minute he left, and she started smiling again. We were…" she choked slightly, swallowing hard. "We were a family."

He didn't understand why this wasn't more awkward. Honestly, it _was _awkward, but it also felt… hell, he didn't know. Cathartic?

It was easier to talk about this stuff with Jo, he guessed, not just because she understood what it was like to lose a father, but because she was on the outside. If she heard him talk about John, she wouldn't hand him some alternate depiction of the man based on her own, less pleasant experiences.

She swallowed, steeling herself. "You want to know why I want to do the job?" she asked him.

He stared back, silent, waiting expectantly.

"For him," she said. "To be close to him. Tell me, what's so wrong about that?"

Dean didn't have an answer. There was nothing wrong with that. All his instincts were to warn her away, discourage her from following her messed-up ambitions… but it was hard to argue with a reason like that.

"Nothing," he whispered.

Luckily, he was spared any further conversation. The door swung open just then, and Sam and Lynn burst into the apartment.

"Where's the coffee?" Dean demanded, half sorry and half relieved to drop the subject.

Sam gave him an irritated look. "There are cops outside," he retorted. "Another girl disappeared."

And just like that, it was back to business.

* * *

><p>Back at the apartment, Lynn collapsed in the living room's black leather recliner, groaning.<p>

"Theresa Ellis, apartment 2F," Dean announced to the room. He was standing at the door, having just got in. Sam and Jo were standing over the table, fussing with the papers again, and Jayne was on the fire escape. "Boyfriend reported her missing around dawn. Where's Goldilocks?"

Lynn turned over in the chair and glared at him. "Fire escape," she spat. After all, it was Dean's fault Jayne was hiding out there.

Dean barely acknowledged her glower or her tone. He just rolled his eyes and stomped over to the window. "What about the apartment?" Jo called after him.

"Cracks all over the plaster – walls, ceiling. There was ectoplasm too," Dean replied, pushing open the window. "Hey! Get your butt inside!"

Jayne's reply was lost to the wind, but Lynn could tell by her tone that she'd said nothing nice. Dean had heard her perfectly, however; she could see it on his face. "Damn it, Goldilocks, because there's a homicidal ghost on the loose, snatching up blonde chicks! Now get in here where I can see you!"

Lynn raised an eyebrow at that. The concern was nice to hear – definitely better than all the ignoring Jayne and following around Jo. Still, as far as Lynn was concerned, it was all too little, too late.

Her sister seemed to feel the same away. She stepped inside the apartment without even looking at Dean, knocking her shoulder confrontationally against his. Dean glared at her back and shut the window behind her.

"Well, between that and the tufts of hair we found, I'd say this sucker's coming from the walls," Sam murmured.

"Yeah, but who is it?" Dean retorted. "Building's history is totally clean."

Lynn bit back a snide comment about Jo and her novice research skills. It wasn't fair, and it probably wasn't true. She was just feeling catty and needed to take the rage out on someone.

Jayne was right though – she should be getting pissy with Dean, not Jo.

Speaking of Jo, she was reviewing one of the old photos of the field that the building had been built on. Lynn frowned at the other girl, who was carefully studying the picture.

"Maybe we're looking in the wrong place," Jo spoke up.

"What are you talking about?" Lynn asked, unable to keep all the nastiness out of her tone. Sam raised an eyebrow at her, and Jayne sent her a warning look. Jo took it in stride.

"Check this out," Jo said, handing the photo over to Sam.

Lynn glanced at her sister, who shrugged at her. Then the two of them joined Sam and Dean at the table and took a look at the picture.

"An empty field?" Sam asked, confused.

"Take a look at the one next door," Jo returned. "The windows?"

Lynn saw it at the same time Sam did. "Bars," the youngest Winchester said aloud.

"We're next door to a prison?" Dean asked.

Lynn didn't want to admit that Jo was onto something, but it was useless arguing with facts. Sour, she folded her arms over her chest and returned to the living room recliner. Jo wrestled her cell phone out of her jacket, and called Ash.

Twenty minutes later, Jo had the answers she was looking for. "Thanks Ash," Lynn heard her say into the cell. "And if you mention a word of this to my mom… that's right, I will! With pliers!"

Lynn looked up as Jo ended the call and commanded everyone's attention once again. "Ok," she announced, snatching the photo out of Dean's hands. "Moyamensing Prison. Built in 1835, torn down in 1963. And get this: they used to execute people by hanging them in the empty field next door."

Sam and Dean looked impressed. Lynn was not – or at the very least, she wasn't going to admit it. "Awesome," her sister drawled. Jayne had taken up leaning space on the kitchen counter again. "Not bad, Jo."

"Well, now all we need is a list of everyone executed there," Sam spoke up.

Jo smirked. "Ash is already on it."

She had Sam take out his laptop and check his email. Lynn sat on the edge of the recliner, watching impatiently as Sam took a seat at the table, checking his inbox for new messages. Finally, after ten minutes of waiting, Ash sent them the list.

It was bad news; Sam opened the attachment and shook his head. "157 names?" he asked incredulously.

Dean shook his head. "We've got to narrow that down."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed.

"Or else we're going to be digging up a hell of a lot of stiffs."

Sam was scrolling down the list of names, Dean and Jo reading over his shoulder. Lynn looked at Jayne over the kitchen table and raised an eyebrow. Her sister shrugged and leaned back farther against the counter, folding her arms over her chest.

After a moment Sam paused. "Herman Webster Mudgett," he read aloud, frowning at the screen.

Jo stared at him. "Yeah?" she prompted.

"Wasn't that H.H. Holmes' real name?"

That name was familiar. Lynn sat up straighter and locked eyes with Jayne. Her sister didn't look nearly so impressed – in fact, she shrugged at Lynn again and mouthed, _who?_

Lynn rolled her eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean murmured. He practically shoved Sam out of his seat and commandeered the laptop, looking for information on Holmes. Lynn dug her fingernails into the edge of the lather seat, waiting impatiently for the answer.

Jo looked confused. Lynn didn't bother explaining to her – nor to Jayne. If she told Jayne, she'd inadvertently tell Jo, and she didn't really want to talk to Jo right now. Or ever.

"Yep," Dean suddenly announced. "Holmes was executed at Moyamensing, May 7th, 1896."

Sam shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. "H.H. Holmes himself. Come on! I mean, what are the odds?"

Jo was still frowning in confusion. "Who is this guy?"

"America's first serial killer," Lynn drawled, staring vacantly at the far wall.

Dean glared at her, presumably for stealing his thunder. "Yeah. Multi-murderer, actually. They coined the term to describe Holmes."

"Yeah, he confessed to 27 murders, but some put the death toll at over a hundred," Sam jumped in.

"And his victim flavor of choice?" Dean added. "Pretty petite blondes. He, uh… used chloroform to kill them." Suddenly, his smirk faded, and his eyes went unfocused. "Which is what I smelled in the hallway last night."

Lynn frowned at Jo, who wasn't paying her any attention. Then she looked at Jayne. Her sister seemed annoyingly unconcerned, and Lynn was ready to smack her in the head.

"At his place, cops found human remains, bone fragments, and long locks of bloody blonde hair," Dean read aloud. He glanced at Jo. "Boy, you sure know how to pick them."

Jo shrugged. "So we'll just find the bones, salt and burn them, right?'

Sam shook his head. "Well, it's not that easy. See, his body is buried in town, but it's encased in a couple tons of concrete."

Jo made an incredulous face. "What? Why?"

Dean smirked again. "Story goes, he didn't want anybody mutilating his corpse… because, you know. That's what he used to do."

Lynn shuddered. Sam got rather suddenly to his feet. "You know something?" he asked, sounding excited. "We might have an even bigger problem than that."

"How does this get bigger?" Jo demanded.

Sam rifled through the research on the table, and finally dug out an old photo of another building. "Holmes built an apartment building in Chicago," he explained. "They called it the Murder Castle. The whole place was a death factory – they, uh… had trap doors, acid vats, quicklime pits… he built these secret chambers inside the walls. He'd lock his victims in and keep them alive for days… some he'd suffocate, others he'd let starve to death."

Lynn was starting to feel nauseous. It wasn't necessarily the idea that this could be happening in the walls of the building right then and there… all she could think about was her sister, and how this could all end with Jayne being reduced to a lock of long, bloody blonde hair. That thought alone made her shudder again.

"So Theresa could still be alive?" Jo asked hopefully. "She could be inside _these_ walls!"

Dean got to his feet immediately. "We need sledgehammers and crowbars. We've got to smash these walls, anywhere thick enough to hide a girl."

He rushed off in search of the necessary tools. Jo blinked a few times, and looked at Sam. He nodded at her, and the two of them followed Dean. Lynn rubbed her temples, groaned, and slowly to her feet. Jayne looked at her, not moving from the counter, and raised an eyebrow.

Lynn pointed a warning finger at her sister. "We are taking the middle floors again, _together_. I am not letting you out of my sight. Do not give me any crap; just accept the fact that I love you, and let me watch your back."

Jayne smirked. "Well, when you put it like that…"

Lynn rolled her eyes. Jayne smiled slightly, looked at the floor, and then pushed herself off the counter. "Ok, let's do this," Jayne said, heading off in the direction the other three had disappeared.

She watched Jayne duck out of the apartment, shaking her head. "Great," she grumbled under her breath. "Let's _definitely_ do this. Best idea ever."

Still grumbling, she followed Jayne out the door.

* * *

><p>Dean leaned against the corridor wall, just outside the apartment door, with his sledgehammer between his boots and his hands balanced on the handle. The rest of them were inside, and he was getting sick of waiting on them.<p>

He bumped his head against the wall rhythmically, bored and impatient. It had already been decided that Jo was going to be sticking with him, Sam was going it alone, and Lynn and Jayne would be working together.

Dean didn't really like that idea. He wanted to keep an eye on Jo, but he also wanted to keep an eye on Jayne. The two of them hadn't been getting along, but that didn't change how he felt, and… well, now the thing was active again, going around snatching blonde girls, and the last thing Dean wanted was for Jayne to get snatched too.

The door creaked open and Dean looked up at the unexpected noise. Jayne stepped out into the hallway with a crowbar over her shoulder.

"Hey," he greeted her gruffly.

She stared at him a moment, blinked, and then shrugged one shoulder. "Hey."

There was a long silence.

"Well… later," Jayne drawled, rolling her eyes and walking away. Dean frowned at her back, and took a step after her.

"Hey!" he barked. "Wait a minute."

She stopped and turned around slowly, giving him impatient eyes. "What?" she demanded.

There was a brief moment of silence. There was ice in her expression, and he didn't know how to respond to it. When Jayne was cold, it always threw him. He was never sure of the correct course of action, and he almost always wound up choosing wrong.

Dean took a few more steps towards her, looking around for eavesdroppers. Deciding they were alone, he shrugged and leaned towards her. "You know, Jo's not the only one around here who matches the victim profile."

Jayne tilted her chin and narrowed her eyes. "What are you trying to say, Dean?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

He shrugged again. "Just… you know. Be careful."

She tightened her jaw. "I can take care of myself," she informed him frostily. "Maybe you need to babysit Jo, but I'm perfectly fine on my own."

"I know," he countered. "I just want you to be careful."

Jayne snorted. "Take care of Jo, all right? Don't worry about me."

"Of course I'm going to worry about you!" he snapped.

His voice echoed around the hallway. Jayne took a step back, folding her arms defensively over her chest and glaring at the floor. Dean took a deep, steadying breath, and glanced around them, making sure the outburst hadn't attracted any outside attention. "Look, I know you know what you're doing," he told her. "But… I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," she said flatly, and Dean got the sense that she was talking about more than H.H. Holmes. For some reason, that got under his skin. His fuse was already short, and now it was burning shorter.

He shook his head in annoyance. "You're such a pain in the ass," he bit out. "Why do you have to be like this, every time I try to worry about you?"

"Because I don't need you to worry about me!" she exploded. Dean took a step back, widening his eyes at the sudden, unexpected shout. Jayne looked surprised by her own outburst too, and she looked at the floor, lowering her voice. "I don't need anyone to worry about me."

"Like hell you don't," he muttered.

"I don't," she returned sharply, looking him directly in the eye. "I never did before, and I don't need it now. So don't worry about me, Dean. I'm fine."

He stared at her. She glared back. Dean didn't really know what to say. It wasn't just Jayne's usual crap he was facing here – he could feel it. She wasn't just putting on a brave face and acting tough because that was what she did. No, she was pushing him away.

This was partly his fault; that he knew for sure. Acknowledging his blame in the situation didn't make him any less pissed at Jayne.

Lynn stumbled out of the apartment just then, freezing before the pair of them. She looked from Jayne, to Dean, and back to Jayne again, eyes wide and lower lip caught between her teeth. "Um…" she murmured. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nope," Jayne replied smoothly, before turning her back on Dean and marching off down the hall. "Let's go!"

Dean watched her disappear down the hall and around the corner. He looked at Lynn, who was watching him with concern and apprehension. She glanced down the corridor, and then looked back at him, eyebrow raised. "Look, I don't know _what's_ going on between you, but…"

"Just keep an eye on her, all right?" Dean interrupted, his tone rougher than he intended. "Holmes…"

"I know," Lynn replied, bristling. "She's his type. I don't need you to tell me to look out for my sister, Dean. I look out for her all the time, no matter what. And it's not just ghosts and demons that worry me; I don't like it when human male assholes screw with my sister either."

Dean blinked at that, taken aback. Lynn glared at him, ice in her eyes and steel in her spine. She tossed her hair back and lifted her chin, staring him down. Dean swallowed down an angry retort, and glanced off in the direction Jayne had gone.

"Yeah, I hear you," he finally said. "Just… watch her back."

"I _will_," Lynn retorted frostily.

"I _know_," he snapped. "I just… need to say it."

There was a long silence. Dean stared at the floor, doing his best to avoid Lynn's eyes. Lynn stared at him, her brow furrowed and her arms folded over her chest.

"Telling me to have her back is _not_ the same thing as you having it," Lynn informed him. Then she turned away from him and stormed down the hall, just like her sister had before her. It was all Dean could do to stare at the end of the now empty hallway, trying not to run off after them.

Sam and Jo appeared in the doorway then, and Dean forced himself to snap out of it. "Hey," Sam greeted him. "Uh… I'll take the first floor?"

Dean nodded tightly. "Sounds good.

Sam nodded back, and then he sauntered down the hallway, taking the opposite direction from Jayne and Lynn. Jo stood still beside him, her hand on her hip, with her eyebrow raised.

"Well?" she asked. "Ready or not?"

"I'm ready," he practically grunted. Then he headed off towards the nearest stairwell. Jo bounced after him, and it grated on his nerves. What sort of person got this excited about climbing around inside an old building's walls?

Jo, apparently. She sensed that he was on edge, however, because she refrained from talking to him for a little while. There were no overly enthusiastic questions or comments; Jo didn't ask him what his problem was, or call him on any of his crap. Jo just tagged along behind him quietly, although her expression betrayed her excitement.

They picked a spot on the top floor, out of the way, so no one would notice the gaping hole in the drywall – at least, they wouldn't notice right away. Dean busted through the plaster with his sledgehammer, knocking enough away that he could fit into the wall. He led the way, and Jo climbed inside right behind him. They turned on their flashlights and began inching their way through the small space between the exterior walls and the plasterwork.

At first, they didn't talk much. Dean focused on shining the light ahead of them, scouting for any sign of Holmes or his victims. He had the EMF reader out, and was scanning the insides of the wall. So far, nothing had triggered the reader. Jo tagged along behind him, flashlight out as well.

Soon, Jo dug out her cell and dialed a number. Dean sent her a weird, questioning look over his shoulder. "I'm just checking everyone else's progress," she informed him rather snottily.

He rolled his eyes. Jo called Sam. Dean tuned her out.

"OK, just call us when you're done checking the southeast end," he heard her say into the phone. She hung up, sighing. "Sam's almost done with the first floor," she announced. "Hasn't found jack squat either. He said he'd call Jayne and Lynn, find out whether they got anything."

"Yeah, I'm betting no on that," Dean grumbled. He kept pushing on through the wall and finally turned the corner.

It was just around the corner that he hit the roadblock. A snarl of pipes and extra brick prevented him from going any further. He sighed and stopped short.

"What is it?" Jo demanded.

"Too narrow," Dean grunted. "Can't go any further."

"Let me see," Jo replied, pushing past him.

"Whoa… what are you…"

She pushed past him, breathing hard, rubbing up against his chest… and a more sensitive area… in her attempt to get around him. Dean groaned as her warm body pressed against him, stirring up a very inconvenient reaction.

"Should have cleaned the pipes," he grunted.

"What?" Jo demanded.

"Uh… the pipes…wish the pipes were clean."

She dug her elbow into his stomach. "Shut up!"

He winced and moved to the side. Jo shined her light ahead of her. "I can fit in there!" she announced.

"Whoa, you're not going in there by yourself!"

"You got a better idea?"

He didn't.

Jo shoved her way past him and managed to squeeze through the small space ahead of them. Dean glared at her as she picked her way through the wall, putting more and more distance between them. He swallowed, hard. Jo turned a corner up ahead, and Dean clenched his fist so tightly around his flashlight that he nearly broke it.

Dean dug the blueprints of the building out of his jacket and his cell phone out of his jeans. He dialed Jo's number, perusing the blueprints by flashlight.

"What?" she answered the phone, her tone annoyed.

"Where are you?" he demanded.

"By the north wall."

Dean scanned the blueprints, trying to find her position. "I'm heading down some kind of air duct," she told him over the phone.

"No, no, no, stay up here!" Dean protested.

"We got to find this girl, don't we? I'm ok."

She might be ok for now, but Dean couldn't guarantee that would last. Jo was climbing around in the walls by herself, and there was a ghost running around the apartment building that liked snatching young, petite blonde girls. The hell he was leaving her alone for long. Dean located her position on the blueprints, and made his way back towards the hole in the wall.

"All right," he told Jo over the phone. "I'm coming to you."

He ducked back out of the wall, waiting for Jo to say something about where she was or what she saw. She was still fine, he knew, because he could hear her breathing into the receiver. Dean jogged to the stairwell and down a flight of steps.

"Oh god," he heard her say, fear in her voice.

Dean's heart skipped. "What is it?"

There was no answer. "Jo?" he asked, his concern spiking. "Jo!"

A shrill, terrified scream rang out over the phone.

His stomach rolled. Dean raced down the rest of the stairs, his heart pounding. At the foot of the stairs, he took off running for the part of the wall he thought she'd be behind.

"Jo!" he bellowed once he reached the spot. She didn't answer.

Swallowing down his panic, Dean hefted his sledgehammer and swung, splintering the plaster and the wooden beams underneath it. He smashed the hammer into the wall five times, until the plaster fell away and he was able to bust through the wood using his bodyweight.

There was no one behind the wall. Dean shoved his way through, shining his flashlight into the dark, cobwebby corners of the space behind the plaster. Lying on the ground behind the wall was Jo's abandoned cell phone.

"Jo!" he shouted, craning his neck for any sign of her. "Jo!"

There was no answer. Jo was gone. Dean cussed and pulled back out of the wall. In a fit of rage, he kicked the wall, splintering another hole into the plaster.

Ellen was going to kill him.

* * *

><p>"It's so gross in here. Seriously, I'm grossed out. Are we done yet?"<p>

Jayne rolled her eyes at her stepsister's commentary. Lynn was behind her, flashlight and EMF in hand, complaining nonstop about being in the walls.

"You didn't have to come in, you know," Jayne replied nonchalantly. "You could have hung around outside, ran navigation by phone…"

"Oh, no, I could not," Lynn interrupted fiercely. "There is an undead homicidal maniac in these walls, and I am not letting you go spelunking in here with a homicidal manic. Not without me."

Jayne rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, yeah."

Lynn had been on about this ghost, and Jayne's unfortunate resemblance to his chosen victims, ever since she'd arrived in Philadelphia. It was starting to grate on her nerves, although a lot of Jayne's irritation was for show. She didn't really mind Lynn worrying about her – she just wished Lynn wouldn't talk about it so freaking much.

Dean hadn't seemed all that concerned until that Theresa girl went missing earlier in the morning. The moment she'd vanished, he'd gotten… weird.

Actually, he'd started acting more normal – talking to her, ordering her around, and being stupidly, unnecessarily overprotective. It hadn't lasted long. They were all running around inside the building walls now, and Dean was with Jo.

And Jayne didn't care. Really.

The two of them crept silently through the wall, dodging cobwebs and squeezing around pipes. "Ew," Lynn whispered behind her.

Jayne raised her eyebrow and frowned at Lynn over her shoulder. "What is it now?"

"I think there's a cobweb in my hair."

Jayne rolled her eyes again and pressed on. The space behind the wall started getting narrower and narrower. She turned sideways to get around a collection of pipes and just barely managed to squeeze on through.

There was a sudden _clang!_

"Damn it!" Lynn exclaimed.

Jayne stopped short and twisted her head around. Lynn was behind her still, on the other side of the pipes, pouting at the obstacle. "I can't get through!" she said in a loud whisper.

"Why not?" Jayne frowned. "I did."

"I know, I just… it's just that…" Lynn sighed harshly and rolled her eyes. "Fine, damn it. My boobs are getting in the way."

Jayne snorted.

"Shut up!"

"All right, I'll go ahead without you," Jayne called in a low voice.

"Wait!" Lynn hissed. "You can't! That's a bad idea!"

Jayne shrugged. "Yeah… oh well."

"Jayne!"

"Later!"

"Jayne! Jaynie! You…would you just… what the hell?"

Her sister was going to be pissed, but Jayne kept walking anyway. She pressed farther through the space behind the wall, and rounded a corner. Jayne barely made it three steps away from the corner when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket.

Rolling her eyes again, she answered the phone without even looking at the display. "Hi, Lynn."

"I am so mad at you right now!"

"Figured."

"What's back there? See anything?"

"Not yet."

Jayne frowned into the darkness, straining to see by the dim glow of her flashlight. A cobweb caught her hair and she jerked her head to the side, making a face. Slowly, she picked her way down to the end of the wall, and rounded another corner.

"Jaynie?" Lynn asked suddenly.

"I'm still alive."

Her sister sighed into the phone. "Look, I really don't like this. Can you just come back this way, and we'll find another way in? Go over that part of the wall together?"

It went against her instincts to give in that way, but she really hated the nervous tone of her sister's voice. Lynn sounded on the verge of a panic attack. Jayne sighed too. "Yeah, ok."

She knocked some cobwebs down and managed to twist her way around, intending to go back the way she came. A strange odor filled the space behind the wall, one she hadn't picked up on before. Jayne sniffed, frowning, trying to discern what the scent was. It was almost sweet, with a strange medical undertone.

"Jayne?" Lynn asked again.

"I'm fine," she replied automatically. "Smell something weird back here…"

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

"Chloroform? It's chloroform, isn't it? Get your butt out of there right now!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Geez, it's probably just mildew."

It wasn't mildew; she was sure of that, but she wasn't going to tell Lynn. Jayne quickened her pace. Suddenly, a chill ran down her spine as the temperature behind the wall dropped several degrees.

"Oh, crap," she muttered.

"What is it?" Lynn demanded over the phone.

Jayne ignored the question, swallowing. She heard an unexpected noise beside her, like a drip from one of the pipes. Turning her head, she shone her light on the exterior wall.

Thick black goo was oozing in through the seams.

"Oh, _shit_," she added.

"What's going on?" Lynn asked, her voice getting a little too high.

Jayne didn't answer that question either. She stared silently at the black goo, her eyes wide, frozen in her tracks. Then she gave her head a cleansing shake and quickened her pace.

"Everything's fine," she told Lynn. "I just…"

Her cell phone went flying out of her hand. Jayne stared at it, watching it clatter on the ground several feet away. Swallowing again, she whirled around, but her flashlight flickered and died.

It was pitch black inside the wall now, and she couldn't see a damn thing. Breathing heavily, Jayne took a step backwards, towards her cell phone. Her fingers were shaking as she reached inside her coat, trying to find a weapon. Something cold wrapped around her ankle, and suddenly she was on the ground, on her back.

Her short, loud, scream echoed through the wall. She kicked and tried to get back up. Another cold, rough hand clamped down over her mouth, and the sweet, chemical smell got stronger. The cold hands began dragging her through the narrow space. Jayne tried to fight, but the smell made her head spin, and her limbs weak.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she lost consciousness.


	11. No Exit

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to It Belongs in a Museum, SPN Mum, AshlynPaige92, Guest, Swallowing Dante, ColtFan165, ThreeMoons3, Aelthar101, Spelllesswonder29, Guest, BarronsBaubles, Nelle07, chabitso.0, ks90, angeleyenc, KayJean11, Jayhadd, Mariana, DesElements, LoveyAnne, Blue Fire Lily, Me, darksnider666, Berry Smoothie, guest, austen2gaskell2, sarah and guest for all the reviews!

Seriously, everyone, I am so fucking sorry this took so long. I have no idea what my problem is… I mean, parts of this chapter were written ages ago! Other parts were very stubborn about not turning out the way I wanted them. For some reason, I just couldn't finish this thing. Worst case of writer's block/procrastination I've had in a while. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and the patience, and enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter 11: No Exit<p>

Sam climbed out of the hole he'd made in the second floor wall, brushing plaster dust and cobwebs off his clothes. He'd spent hours in the apartment building walls and so far, it had been a waste of time. Sam had found nothing, and judging by the brief phone conversations he'd had with Jo and Lynn, neither had anyone else. Sam gave the hole in the wall one last, helpless look, feeling pity for the guy who had to patch it up, and then he pocketed his flashlight and took off down the hall.

He dreaded finding the others. Everything had been awkward and tense from the get-go on this hunt. If Dean wasn't arguing with Jo, he was arguing with Jayne. If Jayne wasn't arguing with Dean, she was hiding on the fire escape. If Lynn wasn't yelling at her sister, she was making nasty comments to Jo. And Jo… well, by this point, Sam just felt bad for the girl.

He rounded a corner and slammed into a hard body moving at top speed. Stumbling back, Sam blinked in surprise when he realized he'd collided with his brother.

Dean barely looked at him. "He's got Jo!" he announced angrily, marching off down the hall.

Sam blinked incredulously, following. "What? How'd that happen?"

"I wasn't with her! I left her alone! _Damn it!_"

Dean was on the edge of a complete breakdown. Sam hadn't seen him like this since… well… last week. His brother needed a vacation.

"Ok," he attempted to assure Dean. "We'll find her."

"Where?" Dean demanded.

"Inside the walls!" Sam replied, thinking it should have been obvious.

His brother scoffed. "We've been inside the walls all night! None of the other girls are there; she won't be either!"

Dean took off running for their apartment. Sam followed as quickly as possible, his mind working at full throttle speed. This was bad – very, very bad. If that thing had Jo… well, they'd been responsible for her. The moment they'd lied to Ellen about where she was, they'd accepted full responsibility for her safety. If something happened to her… Dean was clearly not going to get over it. Sam was going to feel like shit. And Ellen…

Ellen would murder them all.

Dean burst through their apartment door and Sam jogged in after him. "We just need to take a beat and think about this," he announced, marching straight for the kitchen table still strewn with Jo's research. "Maybe we got Holmes' M.O. wrong."

"Yeah, right," Dean growled. "Well, we better freaking think fast."

Sam took a seat at the table, pulling some of the papers towards him for yet another read-through. If the girls weren't in the walls, then where the hell would they be?

Before either Sam or Dean could really look through the papers on the table, Sam was distracted by the sound of running footsteps outside the door. Frowning, he looked up just as the apartment door flew open and banged into the wall.

Lynn stumbled into the apartment, breathing heavily. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes were red and puffy. Sam stood up immediately, his chair scraping against the floor. "Lynn?" he asked, dropping the paper in his hand. He moved towards her cautiously. "What happened? Are you ok? What…?"

"Where's Jayne?" Dean demanded.

Sam glanced at his brother. Dean was glaring at Lynn, and it made him uncomfortable. Clearly, this was not the time to be glaring at the woman. Lynn took a few deep, steadying breaths and Sam walked over to her, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Lynn, what…?"

"Where the hell is Jayne?" Dean barked, cutting him off.

It was a pointless question, because in reality, they already knew the answer.

Lynn was shaking her head, and he could feel her tired shoulders sagging under his hands. "He… he… in the wall, he… she went ahead of me, and then… and… she's gone! He took her!"

The words came out rushed and breathless. She stumbled over them, stuttering uncontrollably, trying to gasp in air. Sam swallowed, watching as her eyes welled. Lynn wouldn't let him comfort her, though. She pushed him away and stumbled back, fisting her hands in her hair. "I was supposed to be looking out for her!" she exclaimed. "I… how could I… we _have_ to get her back!"

Sam nodded, opening his mouth. He never got to speak.

_Bang! Crack!_

Dean punched the nearby wall, splintering the plaster. Sam jumped, whirling around and gawking at him. Lynn stumbled back another step, her hands coming up over her mouth.

"Damn it!" Dean roared, shaking out his hand. Sam stared at him, wide-eyed. Lynn didn't move. Dean ignored them both, grabbing one of the kitchen chairs and tossing it over. It fell to the floor with a _thud!_ Sam watched it skid on the hardwood. Dean kicked the half wall separating the kitchen area from the living room, and then hunched over it, gripping the wall tightly like somehow that was going to pull him together.

Lynn brushed past Sam, surprising him, and marched straight to Dean's side. She grabbed his arm. He tried shaking her off, but she held on determinedly, and grabbed the other arm too, giving him a surprisingly vicious shake. "Stop it!" she hollered at him. "Stop it, damn it! If you freak out and trash the apartment, then _I_ can't!"

She let him go and he tripped backwards, grabbing the half wall for support. Lynn stared unseeingly at him, the tears gone. In their place was a hard, angry, determined look. Sam raised an eyebrow, watching as Dean recovered from his shock and set his mouth in a grim, equally determined line. Both Lynn and Dean stood still, staring one another down.

Sam blinked at them, and shook his head. "Ok…" he said slowly. "Um… we should…"

He was interrupted by the ringtone on Dean's cell phone. Dean hissed cuss words under his breath as he dug it out of his pocket and answered the cell.

"Yeah?"

Sam frowned at his brother briefly, before returning to the layout of the murder castle in his hand.

"Ellen."

When Dean said that name, Sam found himself distracted from the papers on the table again. He looked up at Dean with slight panic, and then chanced a look at Lynn.

Lynn didn't seem to give a shit that Ellen was calling; she didn't seem to notice anything occurring outside of her own inner turmoil. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso, and she was staring at the far wall without really seeing it.

"She's going to have to call you back," Dean stammered into the phone. "She's, uh… taking care of feminine business."

Sam couldn't make out the words Ellen shouted at his brother, but he heard her voice yelling over the receiver. Dean grimaced. "Look, we'll get her back," he assured Ellen.

There was another pause. Sam stared at Dean's back. "The spirit we're hunting… it took her," his brother explained. "She'll be ok, I promise."

Ellen said something else – something scathing, no doubt. "What?" Dean asked, frowning. "It won't. I won't let it. Ellen, I'm sorry."

There was a brief pause, and Sam assumed Ellen ended the call. He looked quickly back down at the table. Dean hung up the phone violently, bringing his hand down tightly at his side. "Damn it!" he exploded again.

Sam flinched, eyeing his brother carefully. Lynn sagged against the kitchen counter and buried her face in her hands. "Don't beat yourself up, Dean," Sam murmured. "There was nothing you could have done."

Dean shook his head and started to pace. "This is all my fault," he muttered.

"Don't do that," Sam protested quietly.

"It is!" he snapped. "Jo had no business being out here! I knew that! I should have mailed her ass back to Nebraska the _second_ she got here! I should have… I should have _handcuffed_ myself to Jayne the _moment_ that Theresa girl went missing! Instead I was hauling Jo around inside the walls… inside the damn walls. What the hell was I thinking? Neither of them should have been in there!"

_Bang! _His fist came down hard on the kitchen table, rattling the legs against the floor. "Jayne was my fault," Lynn murmured into her hands. "Don't take on Jayne; I was with her. I should have… there must have been something…"

"Come on, Lynn, don't do that," Sam interrupted sympathetically. "It's not your fault; it's nobody's fault."

Lynn scoffed loudly, and swiped her finger under her eye. Dean angrily shook his head, gripping the back of his chair too tightly, glowering at nothing in particular. Sam eyed him briefly, and then took a deep breath, shuffling through the papers on the kitchen table.

"So," he said hesitantly. "If you look at the layout of the Holmes murder castle, there's torture chambers inside the walls, right?"

Dean glared at him. Lynn made a small, high pitched sound, pinching the bridge of her nose. Sam took another deep breath and forced himself to keep going. "But there's one we missed. The one in his basement."

Dean kept glaring at him. "This building doesn't have a basement," he retorted.

"You're right; it doesn't. But I just noticed this." Sam unearthed the building blueprints from the other papers on the table and put his finger on the important part of the chart. "Underneath the foundation. It looks like part of an old sewer system. But it hasn't been used for…"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. "Let's go," Dean interrupted, grabbing his coat and jogging for the door. Sam gawked after him, and looked over at Lynn.

Lynn was already following Dean out into the hallway.

Sam shook his head, frowning at their backs, and then quickly got to his feet, hurrying after Lynn and Dean. Between the two of them, there was an overwhelming sense of panic and urgency. Sam couldn't blame them; he was worried too, even if his reaction wasn't quite so dramatic.

They had a limited amount of time to get Jayne and Jo back, and that time was running out.

* * *

><p>Jayne woke up slowly. Her head was pounding and her neck was sore. She blinked a few times, trying to focus her burry vision. It took several moments to pull herself out of her sleep, and it took another moment to remember what had happened and where she was.<p>

Only she had no idea where she was.

With a gasp, she tried to sit up, stopping just short of banging her head on the ceiling. Freezing in place, wide-eyed, Jayne looked around her dark little prison, trying to figure out the dimensions. Her boots were pressed against the end wall, with her knees slightly bent. She reached out and hit walls all around her. Her heavy flannel shirt was missing, and she was left in her wife beater. The damp, chilly air was impossible to ignore against her bare arms.

The box was dark, squat, and narrow. Jayne's throat closed up and breathing got difficult. She gave her head a quick, cleansing shake, trying to focus. Quickly, she felt her jeans for anything that might help her. She found a lighter in her pocket, and quickly lit up. The tiny flame illuminated the ceiling right in front of her face.

It was red. Frowning, she moved the lighter closer, trying to see more of the ceiling. It didn't take long to see the scratch marks, and it didn't take much guessing to realize the red was blood.

Jayne closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself not to freak out. Everything was fine; she could totally break herself out of a box. This was a stupid ghost, and she could definitely get out of this. She opened her eyes again, and moved the lighter around the box, trying to see exactly where she was. There was a narrow slit in the metal door, and Jayne pulled herself up on an elbow to see through it.

There was a cavernous, dark room, made of stone, with several dark tunnels leading out of the room, each one concealed behind a heavy metal grate. She could see two more long narrow doors built into the walls across the way, just like hers. Swallowing, Jayne ran the flame along the edges of the door, trying to find a way to bust through it.

A loud clang echoed through the chamber. Jayne jumped, and put out the lighter. For a moment she lay still, waiting to see whether or not the ghost was going to show up.

"Hello?" she heard a familiar, female voice call out. "Is somebody there?"

Jayne frowned and relit the lighter. "Jo?" she called through the slot in the door.

There was a brief pause. "Jayne?" Jo called back.

Jayne sighed, collapsing back against the bottom of her box. "Yeah. You all right?"

"I'm fine, just… not sure how we're getting out of here."

She had similar concerns, but she wasn't going to tell Jo that. "I'm working on it," she replied.

Jo snorted.

"Hello?"

Jayne turned her head towards the new voice, startled. It was another woman who called, her voice shaky and scared, sounding out from the opposite end of the chamber. If she squinted hard through the gloom, she could make out the third woman's eyes peering through a slit in the one of the other doors.

"Um… hi," Jo returned awkwardly. "Your name's Theresa?"

Jayne closed her eyes again and cursed under her breath.

"Yeah," Theresa said, her voice still shaking.

"This won't make you feel any better," Jo replied. "But… we're here to rescue you."

Jayne rolled her eyes.

"Oh, god!" Theresa cried. "He's out there; he's going to kill us!"

"No, he won't!" Jo retorted. "We're getting out! Our friends are looking for us; they're going to find us."

Jo had that right – part of it right, anyway. Jayne knew Lynn was probably freaking out right now, determined to hunt her down and get her back. Her sister would not let her down. And Dean? They might have been fighting, but Jayne was one hundred percent certain he was looking for her too. He'd come for them.

She just couldn't promise anyone they'd get there in time. Jayne took a deep breath and started reanalyzing the metal door on her prison. She couldn't sit around and wait; she had to get all of them out of there.

It was then she heard footsteps coming towards their room. Shoes splashed through puddles of water somewhere beyond the grates. Jayne swallowed, hard, and put out her lighter again.

"Oh, god, he's here!" Theresa shrieked.

"Shh," Jo hushed her. "Just be quiet."

"Everyone sit still," Jayne commanded, keeping her voice low and calm. "Relax."

Someone snorted – probably Jo again. Jayne frowned through the slot in the door, forcing herself to breathe evenly and not move a muscle. She couldn't see anyone out there, but she could hear the footsteps drawing closer.

The suddenly Jo started shrieking bloody murder.

"Jo!" Jayne exclaimed, sitting up as far as she could. "Jo?"

She could see the outline of a man standing before Jo's box. Jayne kicked the door of her cell as hard as she could, and the resulting _clang!_ echoed through the prison. "Get away from her!" she barked. "Jo!"

The man vanished, but Jo kept screaming. Long, whimpering, half shrieks and half sobs were ringing out from her box. "Jo?" Jayne asked. "Jo, are you…?"

Suddenly, a ghostly, grimy hand shot through the metal door. Jayne gasped, throwing herself against the back wall, but the hand twisted itself in her long blonde hair. She fought and struggled with the ghost, desperately thinking up escape strategies – she had no iron, no salt. _Don't scream… don't scream… don't scream…_

Sharp pain exploded in the side of her skull and Jayne yelped loudly in spite of herself. Holmes yanked a lock of her hair from her head and then stood in front of her cell, hair dangling from his fingers, breathing heavily and quietly chuckling. Jayne squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingers against the stinging place on her scalp, trying not to whimper. Her eyes were watering.

Holmes vanished again. Breathing heavily, Jayne pulled her hand back from her head and blinked in horror at the little drops of bright red blood on her fingertips.

Jo was still screaming. Jayne lost her patience. "Jo!" she snapped. "Knock it off!"

It was harsh and mean and hardly comforting. She'd mostly shouted at the girl because she felt like screaming hysterically too. But it worked. Jo shut up.

Jayne took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She stared at the ceiling of her box for a moment, trying to calm her heartbeat and rub the pain out of her scalp.

"Jo?" she asked after a while. "Are you all right?"

She heard the other woman stifle a sob. "No," Jo replied.

"Yes, you are," Jayne replied. "It's just hair. You're fine."

Jo didn't reply, but her shallow, panicked breathing began to slow and even out. Theresa sobbed out loud from the other cell. "Oh my god!" she cried. "We're going to die down here!"

"Calm down!" Jayne barked at her.

Theresa stopped screaming and hollering, but Jayne could still hear her whimpering. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Barking orders at hysterical civilians was probably the least helpful thing to do down here. Jayne took a deep breath and tried to sound reassuring. "He didn't come after you this time?" she asked the other woman.

"No," Theresa croaked, obviously on the verge of tears.

"Then you're ok," Jayne said gently. "Try to relax; don't give him the satisfaction."

She listened intently to the other two women in the room with her. Theresa was still crying, but she was doing so quietly, without the hysterics. Jo seemed back to normal; Jayne couldn't hear any panicked breathing or quiet sobs.

"Jo?" she asked, just in case. "You all right now?"

"Yeah," Jo replied, her voice flat.

"Good. That's what I want to hear."

Jayne lit her lighter again and patted herself down with her other hand, trying to find _anything_ that might help get her out of there. She had nothing to defend herself against the ghost – no iron, no salt, and definitely no hallowed ground. It was the worst, most sickening sort of feeling. Jayne felt helpless and vulnerable, and she didn't like it. She never felt this way.

She found her pocketknife in her jeans and breathed a sigh of relief. It did her no good against Holmes, but she might be able to use it some other way. Jayne studied the utility tool by the light of the lighter, and then held the flickering flame up to the metal door of the box.

"Jayne?" Jo called quietly.

"Yeah?" Jayne replied, raising an eyebrow, but trying to sound encouraging.

"How the hell are we getting out of here?"

Jayne had no clue. But she had a lighter, and a Swiss army knife, and a determination to pretend she knew what she was doing.

"I told you," she replied, studying the door once again. "I'm working on it."

* * *

><p>Dean's heart rate would not slow down. He was starting to think he was on the verge of cardiac arrest. The only thing working in his favor was the lack of pain in his left arm.<p>

He'd been angry and worried and hating himself ever since Jo vanished from the wall. Ellen's phone call had only increased the guilt. She'd been his responsibility; the moment she showed up in Philadelphia, the moment he'd decided against telling Ellen where she was, he had accepted her safety as his primary job. They were supposed to keep her safe and hand her back to Ellen in one piece. He had failed, miserably.

But as angry and worried and guilty as he'd been, that was nothing compared to the way he'd felt since Lynn had returned to the apartment without her sister.

On the outside, he was trying to look calm. He forced his hand not to shake on the handle of the shovel he'd been lugging around. He forced himself to breathe evenly as he and Lynn followed Sam and his metal detector down the city sidewalks, squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight and dodging the heavy traffic.

The three of them ducked around the back of some old buildings, staying as true to the map of the old sewer system as the modern day city layout would allow. Dean stayed quiet and determined and focused on the mission, keeping his attention on looking for anything that resembled an old storm sewer, even though he felt like punching another wall.

Everything felt wrong without her there, he realized. She wasn't offering any dry, sarcastic commentary. She wasn't glaring at him, or lurking in the background, being quiet and moody. No one was snatching shovels out of his hands; no one was rolling their eyes at him. When something in the apartment building's backyard set off their metal detector, nobody tried to out-dig him.

It was torture. He was lost and anxious and he felt like he couldn't breathe. Dean hadn't felt like this since Dad went missing and Meg was jerking them around and Sam was trying to prepare him for the worst. He hadn't felt like this since she and Lynn left them to help the Hannigans and no one would answer their cell phone and every demon who crossed his path taunted him with stories about how she was already dead.

Maybe the term best friend was something only a twelve year old girl could get away with saying out loud, but Dean knew Jayne Gibson was his best friend, and right now his best friend was missing. She was in some damp, ancient sewer, being tortured by the sick, homicidal ghost of America's first serial killer, and Dean wanted to throw up.

He was right; he should have sent Jo home the moment she showed up. Even if she'd kicked and screamed and caused a general fuss, he still should have sent her ass back home to her mother and then he should have chained himself to Jayne and swallowed the damn key.

Lynn was digging beside him, staring determinedly down at the earth she was piercing with her shovel. Dean raised his eyebrow as she flung dirt over her shoulder with unexpected speed, even as she sucked in deep, shaking breaths. Sam stood off to the side, alternately checking for observers and watching the two of them dig. His injured hand kept him from helping, but it didn't matter. Between Dean and Lynn, the dirt flew up in record time, and suddenly the tip of Dean's shovel hit something with a loud metallic _clang!_

He tossed the shovel aside and fell down on his knees. Both Lynn and Sam followed his example and the three of them brushed the dirt aside, uncovering the ancient manhole cover. Once it was clear, Dean grabbed one of the handles and nodded at Sam. Lynn climbed back on her feet, brushing off her jeans, and took a few steps back. Sam grabbed the other door handle.

"Got it?" Dean asked gruffly.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

They yanked on the handles at the same time, grunting as they hefted open the heavy metal door. Its old hinges squeaked and squealed, protesting as they popped it loose from the square, metal frame buried in the ground. Dirt slid down the dark, deep shaft as they propped the door open, and Dean watched large bugs skitter away from the sudden burst of sunlight, scattering down the slick, brick walls. Little metal rungs stuck out of the side of the shaft, serving as a primitive ladder.

Dean looked up. Lynn visibly shuddered, crinkling her nose at the sight of the bugs. Then she took a deep, steadying breath, and tucked the end of her ponytail into the elastic, turning it into a messy bun. Dean reached into the duffel bag sitting beside him, tossed Sam one of the shotguns inside, and another shotgun to Lynn. Then he grabbed one for himself, along with a flashlight, and shone the beam down the shaft.

The bugs kept running farther away from the light. A small _eep!_ escaped from Lynn, and Dean raised an eyebrow at her before slowly, cautiously lowering himself into the manhole. It took a moment to find his footing on the ancient, poorly constructed ladder. Finally, he situated himself just right on the rungs and made his way carefully down the shaft.

He glanced up at the other two. Lynn sniffed loudly, squared her shoulders, and followed him into the manhole. Dean kept climbing down, keeping an eye on her as she stepped into the shaft, slowly found her footing on the rungs, and then climbed down stiffly behind him.

Sam clambered into the manhole after her, and the three of them climbed down into the earth together. The temperature dropped as they did, and Dean could feel the air getting colder and damper as he got closer to the bottom of the shaft.

He hit the bottom, and his boots splashed in a shallow puddle. Grimacing, he moved back from the ladder and tucked his flashlight under his arm. He extended Lynn a hand as she reached the bottom, and helped her down from the ladder. She moved away from the steps with him, fishing out her own light, and together they examined their surroundings, waiting for Sam to reach them.

It was pitch black, save for the small circle of sunlight at the bottom of the shaft. Dean angled his light around the sewer, finding four squat, narrow tunnels leading away from the ladder in all different directions. He glanced at Lynn, who was making a face at the pipes, each one carpeted with shallow, murky water, and far too small for them to pass through any other way than crawling.

Sam reached the bottom with a _splash!_ "That one," Dean announced, pointing at the nearest tunnel. "That should go right under the building."

His brother agreed with a short, silent nod. Lynn took a deep, steadying breath. "Ok," she whispered. "Ew. Jaynie, you better be grateful for this."

Dean almost smirked, but couldn't quite muster the energy. Instead, he simply got down on his hands and knees and climbed into the old, narrow tunnel. He could hear the splashing behind him as Lynn and Sam followed suit.

Determinedly, he began to crawl.

* * *

><p>Jayne glared at the steel door, prying it away from the wall bit by bit with her pocketknife. She could hear Jo pounding against the door of her own box; the loud, heavy clangs echoing through the sewer. The girl was grunting and groaning in frustration. Jayne tried tuning her out, and then she knocked her boot against her own door, determined to pop it loose.<p>

It wasn't happening.

Apart from the banging, and the sound of water occasionally dripping into the sewer, it was eerily quiet. Jayne tried to keep her focus on breaking out of the box, but her thoughts kept wandering.

A particularly loud bang echoed through the chamber. "Ow!" Jo exclaimed.

Jayne raised her eyebrow, pressing her back to the wall and her shin against the door, still twisting her knife between the hinges. "You all right there, Jo?" she asked dryly.

"Fantastic," Jo sniped back.

She smirked and returned her attention to the hinges on the door. They were above her head, suggesting the door opened up. There was rust all around them, and Jayne was fairly certain that with the right amount of leverage, she could break them.

But in that tiny box, with barely enough space to lay down flat on the floor, getting the right amount of leverage was proving to be a quite a trick. Jayne sat up as far as possible and pressed both boots into the door, her knees pressed back into her ribs. She couldn't quite make herself fit into the necessary position. Trying to ignore the discomfort and the slightly off angle, Jayne focused on further widening the space between the door and the wall with her pocketknife.

The knife slipped, and the door popped back into place with a loud _clang!_

Cussing, Jayne flopped backwards, and then sideways, the tiny proportions of the box keeping her from staying upright. She lay still a moment, took a deep breath, and tried to work up enough energy and optimism to go at it again.

"What are you doing?" Jo demanded from her box.

Jayne grimaced and glared through the slit in her door. Jo couldn't see her, but it made her feel better none the less. "Trying to get the hell out of here," she grunted.

"Yeah? How's that working?"

"About as well as _your_ attempt to get out of here."

Jo didn't have an answer to that. Jayne smirked again and tried sitting up straight one more time. It was stupid to be getting petty and snippy and sarcastic with Jo… they were all in the same boat. They needed to try and work together. But Jayne still wished Jo had never come on this hunt with them – she still wished Jo was back in Nebraska. Jo's presence had done nothing but exacerbate an already shitty situation.

She still hadn't spoken to Dean about that little fight back at the Roadhouse. She'd barely thought about that fight. It was too hard to think about that fight. What he'd told her in the heat of that argument – what John had said about Sam and what that could all mean for Steve…

Jayne still hadn't decided what to do with it all. She didn't know who she was going to tell… if she was going to tell anyone at all… whether or not silence was the right solution.

She needed to talk about this with Dean – she needed to talk about a lot of things with Dean. But all she could do was give him the cold shoulder and pick a fight.

To be fair, he'd been doing the same damn thing. He'd been picking fights too, and he'd been ignoring her a lot. The way he'd latched onto Jo for the entirety of the hunt had stung. But he'd tried to make it better, in his usual stilted, stunted, not-good-enough way. He'd tried to say he was worried about her; he'd tried to tell her he still gave a damn.

She'd shut him down.

He was hurting her, and she didn't like to be hurt. She didn't like putting herself into situations where someone _could_ hurt her. She felt like an idiot, and so she was pushing him away before she did anything else stupid.

She was thinking about her relationships while trapped in a box, in a dank old sewer, waiting for the homicidal ghost of a serial killer to torture her to death. She needed a good smack upside the head.

Jayne was so focused on her thoughts and her attempts to bust out of the box that she failed to notice the temperature drop. It wasn't until Jo got too still and too silent on the other end of the chamber that Jayne realized how much colder the room was.

"Jo?" she asked throatily.

There was no answer from the other woman, but it was impossible to ignore the change in the air. It was colder than before, and she could hear the wind. The sound was like whispering, and it sent a chill down Jayne's spine.

She peered through the slit in the door, glancing frantically around the sewer chamber. It was empty.

"Go to Hell," Jo's voice echoed through the sewer.

She bristled at that, for a moment thinking that the girl was talking to her. But Jayne quickly realized that wasn't the case. "Jo?" she asked again.

Jo let out a distressed, disgusted groan.

"Hey!" Jayne barked, banging against the door of her box. "Don't touch her, you perverted piece of shit!"

She still couldn't see the thing, and that made her more anxious than anything. Jayne sat too still, her ears strained for anything out of the ordinary, wishing she had a way out of the damn box. Finally, Jo cried out, and then Holmes hollered in pain.

"How do you like that?" Jo hollered into the main chamber. "Pure iron, you creepy ass son of a bitch!"

The image of Jo's teensy little knife flitted through Jayne's brain. She peered intently through the slit in the door, holding her own pocketknife tightly in her hand. "Jo?" she asked one more time.

"I'm fine!" the other girl snapped.

There was a brief silence. Jayne tried to relax, but it was impossible. Her eyes passed over the hinges along the top of the door, assessing them once again with vain hopes of busting out of the box. She didn't move.

"That was kind of awesome," Jayne offered. "Just so you know."

Another long silence followed her stingy words of encouragement. Jayne waited for a response, and when she didn't get one, decided that Jo was in no mood to talk to her. She couldn't entirely blame the girl.

"Thanks," Jo said suddenly.

It surprised her. Jayne blinked, and leaned back slightly against the floor of the box. A tiny smirk fought to form on her face.

"Yeah, well," she replied. "Don't let it go to your head."

* * *

><p>Lynn shuddered as she crawled through the icy, shallow water. The sewer was cold and wet and gross. It stank like old, musty water and something else to which Lynn did not want to assign a name. The long, squat, narrow tunnel she was currently crawling through was dark as hell, and only the glow from her and the Winchesters' flashlights made it possible to see what was ahead of them.<p>

Dean was just in front of her, and if he too was grossed out by their surroundings, he was doing a damn fine job hiding it. Lynn chanced a brief look over her shoulder at Sam, who was behind her in the tunnel. His long limbs and oversized shoulders were having a hell of a time squeezing through the ancient sewer system. She would have laughed if the situation hadn't been what it was. As it was, she was mildly amused to see Sam glancing around the tunnel suspiciously, shining his light on whatever he could, like he too was concerned about just what sort of water they were crawling in.

"So… do we have a plan?" Lynn asked out loud, trying to keep her voice low. She needed a distraction.

"Get in. Get your sister. Get Jo. Get out," Dean grunted.

She didn't miss the way his voice caught around the words 'your sister,' but she decided not to comment on it. It would ruin the shaky sense of camaraderie she was feeling with him at the moment – both of them terrified and guilty and determined to save her sister's ass. Stupid Jayne. She'd just _had_ to go off on her own like that, picking her way through the wall by herself despite knowing what sort of monster was crawling inside the walls with them, and what sort of prey it was after…

Lynn swallowed hard, and shook her head slightly. Her eyes were stinging again, and it was pissing her off. "Yeah, but how are we going to stop him? You know, permanently. He's incased in _how_ many tons of cement again?"

"I actually have thoughts on that," Sam spoke up. "Maybe we can't destroy Holmes' spirit the way we would on any other hunt, but it's possible we could trap him."

Lynn made a skeptical face, and was startled when Dean turned around and directed a similar face towards Sam. "Trap him how?" he demanded.

"With salt?"

"Huh," Dean murmured, redirecting his attention on moving through the tunnel. "Not bad, Sammy."

"Catch me up here," Lynn interjected. "Where are we going to trap him?"

"Down here?" Sam suggested. "Holmes is probably down here a lot; we might even run into him while we're trying to get Jayne and Jo out. There's got to be a spot – wherever he keeps the girls, probably – where we can set up some sort of trap, and line the area with salt."

Lynn made another skeptical face. "All right… but this is a sewer. You know, where there's water? How do we keep the salt intact?"

There was a long silence. Dean chuckled suddenly. "You know, I think I have an idea on that one."

He didn't elaborate. Lynn rolled her eyes. The three of them continued on their way through the tunnel, and Lynn tried not to think too hard about her sister. It was honestly killing her, the thought of her sister being trapped down in this skanky hole somewhere, with that thing…

"How are we going to get him?" she asked abruptly. "Like, how do we lure him into the salt?"

"With bait," Dean grunted.

That got Lynn's hackles up. She wanted to get her sister and _go_. She did not want to find her sister and hang out in the skanky sewer to see if Holmes would come back and try to snatch her a second time. Lynn narrowed her eyes at Dean's back and contemplated hitting him with her flashlight.

"Yeah, I think that's the only way," Sam murmured behind her. Lynn shot him a glare over her shoulder, and considered how difficult kicking him at the moment might be. "Jayne could…"

"No," Lynn spoke up. "I would really rather you not finish that sentence."

Sam took a deep steadying breath behind her, obviously preparing himself to deal with the crazy chick. That only further pissed off Lynn. "I'm serious, Sam, don't even try it! Jayne is not bait, do you understand me?"

"She's right," Dean spoke up. "Jo can do it."

Lynn blinked at that. "Jo? Really?"

"Dean, you've been saying she's green the whole hunt," Sam pointed out. "Now you want her to play bait?"

"Hey, she wants to hunt, right?" Dean retorted. "She's been doing all right so far… minus the getting kidnapped part. If she's going to learn, someone's got to give her a chance."

Sam scoffed. "Making Jo play bait is giving her a chance? Seriously? Dean, you know that makes zero sense."

"Makes perfect sense."

Sam sighed in exasperation. "You know, I know what this is really about."

"Shut up, Sam."

There was a brief silence. Lynn chewed her lower lip, trying not to feel guilty. Sam was right; Jo was green, and Jayne was not. That didn't make her feel any better about offering her sister up on a silver plate to a homicidal maniac. She wanted to believe Dean was right; she wanted making Jo bait to be the right decision.

"Lynn," Sam whispered. "Come on, I know you can't actually agree with this."

"Shut up, Sam," she retorted.

He huffed loudly, indignant. "Really? _That's _what you have to say to me? I'm right about this, and you know it, even if you don't want me to be."

That stung, and it made Lynn feel small and shallow. She wanted to smack Sam, but the tunnel was too short and too narrow to do it properly. It didn't matter if Sam was right; she didn't want to play around with her sister's life. Why couldn't he get that?

"We'll finish discussing it later," Lynn murmured. "After we find them."

Sam fell silent at that, although Lynn was sure he was pouting. She didn't dare turn around to find out. She kept her focus on the tunnel, determined to get to the other side and find Jayne.

Everything else could wait.

* * *

><p>It was too quiet.<p>

Jayne stared through the slot in the door, determined not to get caught off guard. Her pocketknife was clutched tightly in her hand, but she didn't dare make another attempt on breaking through the door. She was waiting for Holmes to come back; trying to decide the best way to keep him focused on her, and away from Jo and Theresa.

"Is he gone?" Theresa asked shakily.

"I'm not sure," Jo replied.

Jayne frowned around the shadows and swallowed hard. "Nah, I'll bet the pervert's still here," she said loudly. "Licking his wounds. Son of a bitch isn't as tough as he thinks he is."

"What are you doing?" Jo demanded, in a tone of voice that made Jayne think Jo knew exactly what she was doing. It sounded a lot like the tone her sister used when she thought Jayne was being stupid and stubborn.

Jayne ignored the question, and went back to messing with the door. She slid the tip of her pocketknife into the space between the hinges and started prying it away from the wall once again. Jayne put the toe of her boot against the door, doing her best to pop it open. The creaking of the metal and scratching of the knife echoed through the room.

It wasn't working too well, but she was making a lot of noise. Jayne frowned at the rusty hinges, trying to gauge how easily they'd break. She spared half her attention on the door, and the other half checking for the return of Holmes.

Half her attention was not enough. Suddenly Holmes' cold, grimy hand shot through the door. Jayne jumped and scooted back as far from the hand as possible. Her back hit the other wall instantly and Holmes easily grabbed her by the leg. Jayne tried to jerk free, but the thing held fast, yanking her towards it. Her knee collided with the metal door, and she involuntarily cried out in pain.

"Jayne?" Jo exclaimed.

The cold hand traveled up her leg. Jayne shut her eyes and bit back a disgusted groan. Holmes then rested his hand on her hip, and she jerked away, rolling back towards the wall. He grabbed her arm, and she immediately tried to wrestle out of his icy grip.

"Don't touch me, you sick bastard!" she barked at him.

He clamped his cold hand down on her mouth and nose. Jayne wriggled under his grasp, trying to holler more obscenities at him, but only managed muffled mumbling from behind his hand. She kicked and struggled and swatted at him, but couldn't make any contact with the incorporeal serial killer other than his hand against her mouth.

"Jayne!" she heard Jo cry. "Hey! Get off her, you son of a bitch!"

She struggled and mumbled against his freezing, dirty hand. Holmes only clamped down harder over her mouth and nose. The lack of air was making her dizzy, and her vision began blurring around the edges.

_Bang!_

A shotgun blast echoed through the sewer. Holmes vanished instantly. She lay still a moment, gasping for breath and waiting for her vision to refocus. Running footsteps echoed through the sewer, coming towards her box.

"Jaynie!" Dean's deep, familiar bellow sounded from somewhere in the sewer.

She scrabbled at the floor of the box with her fingers, trying to both sit up and breathe. "Dean?" she called out breathlessly, peering through the slot in the door. She caught sight of him rushing towards her, shotgun in hand. Slowly, she pulled herself up on her elbow, sitting upright as much as the box would allow. His eyes appeared rather suddenly on the other side of the door, level with hers.

"Jaynie?" he asked.

"What's up?" she greeted him casually.

He didn't crack a smile. "You all right?" he demanded.

"I'm fine."

Dean's eyes swept over her face. She looked away.

"Sit tight, Goldilocks," he said, straightening. "I'm getting you out of there."

Jayne smiled slightly. She heard a few bangs and bumps as Dean struggled with the door, grunting and cussing under his breath. Then there was a loud _clang!_ The lock on the door broke, tumbling to the sewer floor. Dean lifted up the door, propping it open with his shoulder, and Jayne quickly swung her legs down.

Dean grabbed her arms before she was even halfway out and yanked her free. Jayne stumbled into his chest, wincing as she put weight on her still aching knee, and Dean wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly against him. She tensed, surprised, but then relaxed into him almost instantly, burying her face in his shoulder. Dean stepped away from the box, letting the door slam shut with a _clang!_ He held her close, his nose against her hair and his open jacket curled around her bare arms. She fisted her hand in his shirt and squeezed her eyes shut, finding it a little too tempting to stay in that hug and let Dean hold her.

"You sure you're all right?" he whispered, his mouth against her ear.

Jayne nodded into his chest. She felt him push her hair back from her face and winced as his fingers ghosted over the sore spot, where Holmes had torn a souvenir from her scalp.

"You're bleeding," he observed, his voice hard.

"I'm fine," she mumbled into his jacket. She lifted her face off his shoulder and saw her sister across the way, kneeling by Jo's prison and picking the lock on the door. Sam was nearby, bent over Theresa's box, whispering comforting words at her.

Quickly she pulled herself together and shrugged her way out of his embrace. Dean frowned slightly, but then he glanced at their audience too and likewise attempted to seem unaffected. He held his arm out towards Sam, crowbar in hand. "Here!" he barked at his brother.

Sam took the tool and set about busting open Theresa's box. Lynn was still focused on picking Jo's lock. Jayne shivered in the damp, chilly air and automatically moved to pull her flannel tighter around herself, only to remember the flannel wasn't there.

"Here," Dean grunted at her, knocking something against her arm. Jayne looked down to see him holding out his coat.

"Thanks," she mumbled awkwardly, taking it from his hand. She shrugged into the jacket and made her way towards the other two boxes. Sam had already broken through Theresa's door and was now helping the scared, shaky girl climb out and stand steady on her feet. Theresa's shoulder length blonde hair was in a matted nest around her head, and her clothes were dirty and rumpled. Jayne stared at her, her throat constricting, as Theresa sagged against Sam. The younger Winchester brother held her up, giving her a comforting hug.

She swallowed and shook her head, dropping her gaze as she walked. Dean kept pace with her, placing his hand on the small of her back. He kept looking around them, holding his shotgun tightly in his other hand, like he expected Holmes to pop out at any second and snatch her away from him.

Lynn finally got the lock open on Jo's prison, and quickly tore away all the extra wires and bolts before lifting the door. Jo instantly tumbled out, breathing heavily, with her long blonde hair tangled all around her face.

"Thanks," she tossed at Lynn.

Her sister nodded, sniffed, and gave her ponytail a shake. "Yeah, sure." Then Lynn turned away from her and looked directly at Jayne.

She squealed. Jayne winced, a smile spreading across her face in spite of herself. Lynn ran towards her, closing the short distance between them in record time. She launched herself at Jayne, throwing her arms around her neck and knocking her back a few steps with the force of her hug.

"Oh my god! You're all right!" Lynn exclaimed. "I mean… you're all right, right?"

She pulled back, gripping Jayne by her arms, and gave her a stern, searching look. Jayne smirked at her. "I'm fine," she said.

Lynn hugged her again. "Oh my god, Jaynie, I _freaked_ out. You have no idea. I told you not to go ahead without me! Damn it!"

She pulled back again and slugged Jayne in the arm. "Why don't you ever listen to me?"

Jayne rolled her eyes. "I see you missed me."

Lynn narrowed her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. "Funny. Seriously… I just…"

She trailed off helplessly, shrugging. Jayne shuffled awkwardly, trying to think up something reassuring to say to her sister. Dean interrupted them, making further commentary unnecessary.

"Jo," he barked. Everyone looked at Jo, who was standing behind them and staring back in surprise. "You all right?"

Dean had not moved from Jayne's side. Jayne frowned at him, and then looked at Jo. The other girl looked a little lost and kind of a mess. To her credit though, Jo simply shrugged and tried to fix her tangled hair. "Been better," she said breathlessly. "Let's just get the hell out of here, before he comes back."

"Actually," Dean returned, almost gently. "I don't think you're going anywhere just yet."

"What?" Jo asked, her voice breaking.

"Why?" Jayne demanded, rounding on him.

Dean glanced guiltily at her, and then returned his focus to Jo. "Remember when I said you being bait was a bad plan?"

Jo stared at him, wide-eyed, and nodded.

"Well, it's kind of the only plan we've got."

In all honesty, Jayne had never cared much about Jo's feelings in any of this. But after the hell they'd been through together, she knew no one should be expecting the girl to go through anymore… especially not when there were other options. And they most definitely had other options.

"That's stupid," she announced, glaring at Dean. "Jo, don't get me wrong – you've done good and everything, but… you're still the greenest one here. I want you to go with Sam and Theresa; I'll be bait."

Jo wavered, glancing at Sam. "I don't want to just bail on you," she protested, although her tone suggested she actually found bailing very appealing.

"I'll be fine," Jayne assured her. "Just go; I got this."

"No," Dean growled, grabbing her arm. "You don't. That's not the plan."

"Well, the plan is stupid," Jayne retorted. "So I'm changing it."

"Jaynie, we already kind of discussed this," Lynn spoke up timidly. "So, actually…"

"You didn't discuss it with me," she replied. "You didn't discuss it with Jo. So, now you have, and now I'm offering a slight variation on the previously discussed plan. Jo gets to leave; I play bait."

"Not going to happen," Dean returned.

"Why the hell not?"

She had him there, and he knew it. She could tell by the way he glowered at her, not saying a thing. He didn't have an answer; he knew his plan made no sense. She stared back, raising her eyebrow challengingly, and Dean continued to glower in silence.

"I'm not leaving," Jo spoke up determinedly. "If you want to be bait, fine, but… this is my case, and I'm seeing it through."

Lynn sighed in exasperation, and stomped her foot. "For crying out loud, neither of you even know the plan yet!" she exploded.

"Guys," Sam spoke up, sounding annoyed and impatient. Jayne glanced at him and saw him holding Theresa up, the poor girl clinging to his arms and hiding her face in his shirt. "I should really get her out of here. So if no one's going with me…"

No one answered him. Jayne folded her arms stubbornly over her chest and glared at Dean, who glared right back at her.

Sam sighed in impatience. "So… no one then," he grumbled.

Lynn looked torn. Jayne stared at her, eyes hard, and her sister gave in with a slump of her shoulders and a roll of her eyes. "Yeah, no one," she told Sam. "Get that poor girl out of here."

Sam nodded, and supported Theresa towards the exit tunnel. Jayne watched the two of them clamber into the damp, dark corridor, on the other side of the iron grate. She watched Theresa crawl on her hands and knees through the tunnel, Sam directly behind her. Then she turned back to Dean, Lynn and Jo. "So," she said. "Plan?"

"We're going to line the chamber with salt," Lynn explained. "Lure Holmes in here, and seal him inside. I mean, without remains to burn… we don't really have any other options."

Jayne nodded. "So you need me to… what? Sit pretty and wait for him to show up?"

Lynn glared at her and sighed in annoyance. "Pretty much."

"I could do it," Jo spoke up. Jayne glared at her, but Jo held her own. "Seriously, it doesn't sound like such a big deal."

"It's not," Jayne replied. "But… like I said, no offense, you're the green one. I don't feel right putting your neck on the line when it can just as easily be my neck. So… just let me do this, so I can keep looking your mother in the eye."

That seemed to get through to Jo, even if she did roll her eyes in annoyance and heave an exasperated sigh. "Fine," the other blonde shrugged. "You do it, then. But I'm not leaving; I'm staying right here, where I can have your back."

Jayne smirked slightly. She knew better than that; she knew this wasn't really about Jo having her back. This was about Jo proving herself to everyone; this was about Jo proving _to_ _herself_ that she could do this job. And honestly, Jayne was ok with that. It made her feel a small, slight rush of affection for the other girl.

She wasn't _ever _going to tell anyone that.

"Then put this on," Lynn spoke up, shrugging out of her hooded sweatshirt and handing it to Jo. "Hide your hair in the hood. The last thing we need is to split Holmes' focus. We want him after Jayne, and only Jayne."

Jo nodded and threw the sweatshirt on over her head.

"Uh, no, we don't want him after Jayne," Dean spoke up, glaring at all of them. "We really don't want him after anyone. Seriously, don't I get a say in this?"

"No," Jayne retorted.

"Why would you?" Jo asked incredulously, speaking at the same time Jayne did.

Dean huffed indignantly. Lynn shook her head and gave him a gentle push towards one of the larger tunnels. "Quit pouting and get to work. You got the salt?"

Jayne smirked at the look on Dean's face. "It's in my coat," he grumbled.

Lynn looked at Jayne and raised her eyebrow. The smirk vanished from Jayne's face when her sister eyed the coat she was wearing with a little too much amusement. Jayne shot her a dark look, and felt about the pockets of Dean's jacket for the salt. Once she'd found it, she handed it over to Lynn, who tossed it at Dean.

Jo headed off to help Dean prep the sewer. Jayne made to follow the pair of them, but Lynn grabbed her arm.

"You promise me you'll be careful," she hissed. "No stupid, reckless moves."

Jayne made a face at her sister. "Lynn, come on. I'm going to be sitting on my ass in a sewer. What stupid, reckless move am I going to pull?"

"Promise anyway."

She raised her eyebrow. "I promise."

"Good," Lynn snapped, glaring at the ground. She looked up at Jayne then, and her face softened. "Look, I get where you're coming from. I know it makes more sense this way. I know Jo's green, and you're not, and it's only right you play bait. Logically, I get that."

Jayne frowned. "Where are you going with this?"

Lynn heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Look, I don't want Jo to get hurt. I just… _really_ don't want _you_ to get hurt. Ok? I mean, you vanished into thin air today, Jaynie! Are we supposed to _not_ be a little freaked out?"

"I get it," Jayne grumbled, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "All right? But all that's over now, so… let's just focus on trapping Holmes."

Her sister glared at her. Jayne tried not to roll her eyes. "Like I said, I get where you're coming from," Lynn said in a low, deadly voice. "Can you get where we're coming from?"

"Yes, ok?"

"Good. So be careful, and cut us a little slack?"

"I am!"

"You're cutting _me_ slack. You're being kind of hard on Dean."

Jayne_ did_ roll her eyes this time. "He's a big boy. He can handle it."

"All I'm saying? Is that when he found out you were missing, he freaked out just as badly as I did."

"I highly doubt that."

"He punched a wall."

Jayne blinked. She swallowed. For a moment, she stared at Lynn in silence. "He punched a wall?" she repeated.

Lynn nodded. "Yep. _Big_ hole in the living room plaster. Jo is _so_ not getting her security deposit back."

Jayne snorted in spite of herself, barely managing to stifle a chortle. Lynn smiled slightly, and then she squeezed Jayne's arm. "Curb the attitude?"

She rolled her eyes. Lynn took that as agreement, and smiled again. Then she shuffled off to help Jo and Dean.

Jayne stood there in the damp sewer for a moment, watching the three of them. She pulled Dean's jacket tighter around her, and then shook her head, ambling to the perimeter of the chamber to help set up the trap.

They had to stop Holmes first; that was their number one priority. Everything else could wait.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Dean found himself still sitting in that damp, cold sewer with his back against the stones. They were all hiding out just behind the iron grate that separated one of the sewer branches from the main chamber. He tilted his head to the side so he could see around the corner of the tunnel and into the chamber where Jayne was sitting, propping herself up on her hands, with one leg tucked under her and the other stretched out on the floor. Dean swallowed, clutching his shot gun tight and his free hand jerking nervously against his thigh. She looked bored, but that wasn't fooling him for a moment.<p>

For his part, he was getting antsy. He wanted to march into the chamber and yank her out of there. If only they hadn't suggested this stupid plan; if only she hadn't _insisted _on being bait in place of Jo. He was an idiot for thinking she wouldn't.

Jo was a little ways down the tunnel, clutching a gun of her own, with her hair tucked up into the hood of her borrowed sweatshirt. Sam had returned less than an hour ago, after seeing Theresa safely to the nearest hospital, and now he was camped out next to Jo, trying to watch her back without being too obvious about it.

Lynn, also toting a shotgun, was right next to Dean, on the opposite side of the mouth of the tunnel. Her eyes were fixed on Jayne too. Ever since Jayne had vanished earlier that day, Dean had felt like he and Lynn were on the same side – like they were partners in all this – and that feeling hadn't gone away yet.

"She's fine," he offered in a low voice, too low to be overheard by Sam or Jo. Lynn glanced up at him, startled. "I mean, she will be."

Lynn frowned at him a moment. "Yeah," she replied shakily, clearly unconvinced by her own words. "I know."

He nodded, and the two of them went back to watching Jayne. "I kind of feel like a dick," Lynn whispered.

Dean made an incredulous face. "Why?"

"We were going to make Jo do this instead. Jayne was right; that was dumb."

Instinctively, Dean glanced at Jo over his shoulder. She hadn't heard Lynn's whispers, and she was still sitting with her back against the sewer, clutching her gun. Dean swallowed at the sight and looked away. With her hair tucked up in the hood of Lynn's sweatshirt, she looked startlingly young.

"Whatever," he grunted. He was suddenly very uncomfortable about the whole thing, and he figured that was his guilt or something finally catching up to him. Hell if he was going to share it with Lynn, though.

"I just didn't want to worry about her anymore for the day," Lynn went on quietly. "I just wanted to get her out of here and know she was safe. God, when she went missing… it was like Steve vanishing all over again."

He was getting even more uncomfortable with Lynn's admission. He did not want to share his feelings, and it got him all uptight and irritable when Lynn tried to share hers. Dean said nothing and kept his focus on Jayne.

There was a long silence. Lynn sighed harshly, glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. Dean frowned. "What?" he demanded.

"Having a real conversation with you is like pulling teeth. You are _so_ annoying."

Dean smirked in spite of himself. "You're not exactly a delight to be around yourself."

"Whatever. Shut up."

They fell back into their uneasy silence, too worried about Jayne to be comfortable. Not long after, Dean felt a chill run up his spine and down his arms. Beside him, Lynn shivered. The air in the chamber dropped several degrees, and Dean heard wind whip through the sewer tunnels. It sounded like whispering.

Jayne tensed, sitting up straighter. Sam and Jo moved in a little closer towards the mouth of the tunnel, joining him and Lynn by the grate. As Dean frowned into the main chamber, the dark gaping tunnel directly behind Jayne melted into the figure of a man.

Lynn jumped slightly, and then rose up higher on her knees, pointing her shot gun straight into the chamber. Dean watched the man move closer to Jayne. He was tall and dressed in old-fashioned clothes, with wild curly dark hair and a beard. He seemed gray in color, like a figure pulled from an old black and white photo.

His fingers tightened around the shotgun as Holmes moved closer and closer to Jayne, stretching out his hands. Lynn was getting antsy beside him, her fingers twitching around the trigger. Sam aimed his gun towards the main chamber too, crouching down into position.

Holmes' fingers got a little too close to Jayne's hair. "Now!" Dean barked, firing off a shot. Lynn and Sam fired too, and the tarp hanging above Holmes' only exit fell, spilling salt behind the ghost. Jayne darted forward as Holmes spun around in shock. The spirit wailed as he took in the salt that had blocked his escape, and his cries only got louder and more desperate as he realized that the salt stretched all the way around the chamber, effectively sealing Holmes inside.

Jayne ran for the tunnel as Holmes continued screaming in horror. Lynn threw open the sewer grate and Dean reached over the salt barrier, grabbing Jayne by the arm and yanking her into him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground, hauling her over the line and into the safety of the tunnel. Lynn slammed the grate shut behind them and secured the clasp.

Holmes was still wailing on the other side of the grate. "Scream all you want, you dick!" Jo hollered back. "But there's no way you're stepping over that salt!"

Dean paid her no mind, his eyes fixated on the angry spirit. He watched him carefully, needing to be positive that they had trapped the thing for sure. Holmes continued screaming and spinning around in circles, but he couldn't get out; that much was certain.

"Dean," Jayne practically growled, pushing on him. He looked away from the ghost and down at her, only to realize he was still clutching her around the waist. Jayne lifted her eyebrows expectantly, clearly annoyed at him, but Dean didn't move an inch; didn't loosen his grip.

That is, he didn't let go until Lynn shoved him away and gave her sister a tight, bone-crushing, seriously embarrassing hug. "Are you all right?" she demanded into Jayne's ear.

Dean rolled his eyes and slumped against the sewer wall, returning his focus to Holmes. "I'm fine," he heard Jayne grouse at her sister. "Seriously, you two are being ridiculous."

"Am not!"

"We should go," Jo spoke up. Dean looked at her in surprise. She was pulling off Lynn's hoodie, and she looked seriously uncomfortable all of a sudden. He thought it might have something to do with Holmes being mere feet away, still shrieking horribly, but he couldn't be sure. Something about the way she wouldn't meet his eyes made him reconsider.

"Jo's right," Sam added. "Let's get out of here."

He led the way down the tunnel. Jo handed over Lynn's hoodie with a muttered 'thanks,' and then followed Sam. Lynn shrugged back into her sweatshirt. "Ready?" she asked Jayne and Dean uncertainly.

Dean nodded once. Jayne shrugged and nodded too. "Yeah. Been ready."

Lynn smirked. "All right, let's bail."

She led the way back down the tunnel. Jayne glanced at him, and Dean swallowed, wanting to say something to her but finding he was incapable. He stared at her a moment instead, and Jayne stared back.

After that huge fight back in the hallway, Dean wasn't sure what to say to her. In fact, if he were being really honest, he hadn't known what to say to Jayne since that blow-up back at the Roadhouse, when he'd come clean about his father and the things he'd said about Sam right before he died.

She wasn't any better. She hadn't really spoken to him either. He bet she was feeling just as uncertain about everything as he was.

"We should go," Jayne pointed out.

Dean nodded again. "Right."

He pushed himself off the sewer wall and placed his hand on her back. She tensed slightly, but didn't shove him away. The two of them walked towards the tunnel together, silently, and when they reached the part where they had to crawl, Dean ushered her in ahead of him.

The two of them really needed to talk, he decided. He just wished he could figure out what he needed to say.

* * *

><p>Lynn had never been so excited to see above ground before in her life.<p>

She clambered out of the manhole and accepted the hand Sam offered her, letting him haul her out onto the grass. The sunlight was painfully bright after the pitch black of the sewer. Lynn blinked, brushing dirt off her jeans, and turned in a half circle in the dried out brown grass. Jo was standing on the other side of the manhole with her arms folded protectively over her chest, and Sam was reaching out to help Jayne clamber out of the sewer and onto the grass.

Lynn breathed in the fresh air and exhaled slowly, watching her sister steadying herself on the ground and inspecting her jeans for sewer muck. Dean hopped out of the manhole next, and exchanged words with Sam that Lynn couldn't hear.

She marched right over to her sister. "Still holding up ok?" she asked.

Jayne rolled her eyes. "Yes. Are you ever going to stop asking me that?"

"Hey, excuse me for caring."

"I'm fine. You can stop freaking out."

Lynn wanted to say something else snappy in response to that, but when she stepped back from the situation and analyzed it logically, she had to concede that Jayne was right. Her sister was fine now, and she needed to relax.

Knowing that was a lot easier than actually doing it. "Sorry," she muttered. "I just…"

"I get it," Jayne said softly. Then she slugged her in the arm. "Now knock it off."

"You are such an ass!"

"I'm heading out!" Dean announced suddenly. Both Lynn and Jayne looked in his direction. He seemed to be addressing Sam and Jo, and Lynn honestly had no clue what he was up to. "Goldilocks, let's go!"

He headed towards the street. Lynn frowned after him, and then glanced at Jayne. Her sister was watching him walk away, equally puzzled. Then she offered Lynn a shrug and made to follow him.

Lynn caught her arm. "You're just blindly following him now?" she demanded. "After the shit he pulled on this hunt? That's not the sister I know."

Jayne rolled her eyes again, and gently removed Lynn's hand from her arm. "Yeah, I know he was a jerk. Remember when you asked me to cut him some slack?"

She opened her mouth, shut it again, and huffed. Lynn wanted to be annoyed right now, and she didn't like that Jayne was throwing her own words back in her face. "I didn't mean…!"

"Look, I think Dean and I need to talk," Jayne interrupted her, looking more serious than Lynn had expected. "So… we'll be back in a bit."

"Where are you going?"

"No idea."

Lynn rolled her eyes this time. Jayne followed after Dean, and the two of them vanished around the corner of a building.

"Great," she sighed. Then she kicked at a tuft of grass, and turned around to look at Sam and Jo. The two of them had convened around the manhole, and were talking to one another like friends or something. Lynn made a face, and then marched across the clearing to join them.

Both of them got quiet once she approached them, which did absolute wonders for her self esteem. Lynn pursed her lips, fighting the urge to say something bitchy.

"So…" she said, swinging her arms. "Any idea where those two are going?"

Jo shrugged. Sam got a mischievous little smirk on his face. "You'll see," he replied cryptically.

Lynn raised her eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest. "Seriously?" she retorted. "It's a secret?"

Sam shrugged. Lynn rolled her eyes again and looked down her nose at the still open manhole. The three of them fell into an awkward silence.

She should have left with Jayne and Dean.

* * *

><p>Jayne folded Dean's coat tighter around herself as she jogged after him, trying to keep up. He was marching quickly down the sidewalk, putting insane amounts of distance between the two of them. It was starting to piss her off. He'd deliberately asked her to come with him – wherever the hell he was going – and now he was ignoring her.<p>

He finally stopped at a corner, forced to wait for traffic before he could cross the street. Jayne reached his side at last and smacked him in the arm.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, clutching his bicep. "What the hell was that for?"

"Where the hell are we going?" she demanded. "And why the hell did you bother bringing me along if you were planning on ignoring me?"

Dean looked slightly guilty and refused to make eye contact. "Cement mixer," he grunted, ignoring the second question completely.

Jayne blinked. "Cement mixer?"

"Yeah. Fill the sewer in. Keep Holmes down there for eternity," he smirked, winking at her. "Thought it'd be a proper send off."

Jayne raised her eyebrow at him, not fully ready to give in and make up. Dean rolled his eyes and jogged across the street. Jayne followed on his heels, catching up to him once they were both back on the sidewalk. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Stealing a cement mixer. We already went over this once."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about."

He didn't answer. Jayne walked alongside him in silence, her arms still folded over her chest. She sighed after a moment and shook her head in irritation. "Are we supposed to be talking or something?" she asked.

"If you want."

"There's got to be a reason you asked me to come."

Dean stopped walking and turned towards her. Jayne stood still, glaring at him. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You're going to make this hard, aren't you?" he retorted.

She bristled, taking a step back and tilting her chin confrontationally. "Last I checked I was _not_ the one making any of this hard."

Dean stared at her. She stared back, eyes hard, waiting. Honestly, she had no idea what she was waiting for; she was just waiting for him to say _something_. Anything. Maybe he could start by apologizing. She wasn't sure what she wanted out of him at the moment, but she wanted more than silence.

He dropped his eyes. "Look, I get that you're mad at me."

Jayne snorted.

Dean glared at her. Jayne ducked her head, and shifted from one foot to the other. "Sorry," she muttered.

They fell into another long silence. Dean sighed heavily and ran his hand over his hair. "Look, all that stuff I said back at the Roadhouse… I'm sorry, all right?"

Jayne was still annoyed at him about the whole John and Sam thing, but she didn't want to argue about it anymore. She pressed her lips into a tight, thin line, still giving him hard eyes. He shifted under the glower uncomfortably, and Jayne relented with a sigh of her own, her shoulders slumping as she unfolded her arms.

"Yeah, ok," she muttered. "It's… it's over. Done. It is what it is, and there's nothing either of us can do to change it."

Dean squinted at that, studying her just as hard as she'd been studying him. "Right," he murmured. "So… you're not still… pissed."

She snorted again.

He nodded once, tucking his chin and smirking slightly. "Ok… so you are."

'I said it's over. So… let's just drop it. Try and act like normal again."

Dean nodded again, studying the sidewalk. "All right."

There was another long silence. The number of pauses in their conversation was getting beyond ridiculous. Jayne lowered her eyes to the sidewalk, chewing on her bottom lip. It was a start; they _had_ to talk about the fight at the Roadhouse. They _had_ to talk about John's little secret, and what that could mean for Sam and Steve. Still, Jayne felt like they were sidestepping the actual issue. There was something else the two of them really _had_ to talk about.

"You going to tell them?" he asked suddenly. "Sam? Steve? Lynn?"

There he went, asking the hard questions that she didn't have answers to. Jayne fidgeted slightly, refusing to meet his eyes. She shrugged. "Honestly… I haven't decided yet. I don't know."

It was the truth; she didn't know. Part of her was certain that she needed to tell them all the truth; that it was the right thing to do. The other part of her was confused, and scared, and didn't want to make the other three feel the same way.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

Dean nodded again. He was still staring at her, and it was starting to make her uncomfortable. "So we good?" he asked.

Jayne shrugged. She frowned somewhere over his shoulder, and then she glared up at him and tilted her head challengingly. "I don't know, Dean. Are we?"

He balked at that, blinking in surprise. Jayne didn't back down; she kept looking him in the eye, challenging him to answer her. After a moment, Dean looked away, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

"I guess I don't know," he admitted.

She didn't respond to that right away, and Dean didn't elaborate. For a moment, the two of them stood on the sidewalk in silence, neither one of them looking at the other. Finally, shaking her head, Jayne sighed and broke the silence. "What are we doing here, Dean?"

He finally made eye contact with her again. "I guess I don't know that either."

Jayne stared at him. He stared back, looking helpless. "Look," she said after a moment. "I don't need us to… call this something. You know? I just… I can't do the drama and the fighting anymore. I don't want to deal with anything like this hunt again, you got it? With Jo and everything, and you being all weird, and… you can't keep secrets like the Sam thing from me, either. Ok?"

Dean nodded. "Well… you can't keep secrets like that either."

That hit her funny. She wasn't keeping secrets from him; not unless she counted the little bedside confession she'd made back when he was in a coma. Personally, she didn't count that. He might, but she wasn't planning on him ever finding out.

Maybe that was wrong, but Jayne couldn't bring herself to confess. She was slowly coming to understand that the words had not been a spur of the moment thing; she could no longer lie to herself about that. She'd meant what she'd said.

She just wasn't ready to tell Dean for _real_. At this point in the whole mess that was her and Dean, she was fairly certain he wouldn't say it back.

"I won't," she said out loud. "I'm not."

He studied her a moment, and then he nodded. "All right, then. No more fighting."

She nodded back. They were silent for awhile, and then Dean gave her a funny look, a small smirk playing around his mouth. She frowned at him. "What exactly are you trying to say?" he asked. "About me being all weird on the hunt… what was it about Jo that you don't want to deal with?"

Dean had zeroed in on the one thing Jayne didn't really know how to talk about. She stared at him for a moment, trying to think up a reasonable answer to the question without giving her feelings away. "Nothing," she said too quickly. "I didn't… I just meant that looking out for her was kind of a pain in the ass, and listening to the two of you bicker like children was annoying as hell."

He raised an eyebrow. That small, irritating little smirk was still playing around his lips and getting under her skin. "You, uh… you weren't jealous?" he asked. "Of Jo?"

"No," she retorted immediately. "Why would I be?"

His smirk got wider. "I don't know. But maybe you were."

"I wasn't."

"Right."

She glared at him. Dean tried to stop smirking, but couldn't. "You know, I know I've been kind of an asshole," he offered. "Talking up Jo and everything."

"I really couldn't care less."

"Well, good. Because, you know… Jo's a nice girl. Stubborn and everything, but I like her fine."

"Great. Me too."

"But if it comes down to her or you… you know you don't have to be jealous. Right? Because it's always going to be you, Goldilocks. Every time."

Jayne stared at him in shock. He stared back evenly, lifting his eyebrows expectantly. She opened her mouth to say something – anything – and then closed it again, having absolutely no idea how to respond to that. For some reason, her eyes started stinging just a little bit. A part of her had wanted to hear that – she'd admit it, although only to herself. The other part of her was completely thrown and totally freaked out.

She must have been silent too long, because Dean frowned at her slightly and took a step closer to her. He opened his mouth, but Jayne closed the rest of the distance between them and rested her fingertips on his chin, pressing her lips gently against his.

It was completely terrifying. Jayne almost wanted to run away. She didn't, though. This was something she'd been wanting, and for once she wasn't going to ruin it for herself. She forced herself to stay the course.

But she would not, could not allow herself to say again what she'd told him all those weeks ago, in the security of his unconsciousness.

She pulled away slowly from the soft, short kiss. Dean stared at her, looking every bit as terrified and freaked out and itching to run as she was. It might have been comforting, if it didn't make her reconsider taking this tiny step.

He gave her a quick, nervous smile. "So… this is awkward."

Jayne laughed in spite of herself. "Yeah… I might need to pretend this didn't happen."

Dean laughed too. Jayne took a step back, and avoided eye contact. "So… cement mixer."

"Right," he agreed, taking the lead again. Jayne followed him closely down the sidewalk. "Let's get this done."

They were silent again, for the rest of the walk, but this time it was a comfortable sort of quiet. It was the kind they shared a lot more often than not, and that she was unfortunately getting very used to.

This was a good thing, she reminded herself. She swallowed down the commitment-phobic freak out every nerve in her body was screaming to have, and allowed herself to be happy about this one, small step forward.

* * *

><p>After spending so much time underground, in the pitch black, ancient storm sewer, Sam would be lying if he claimed that the bright sunlight didn't feel alien to him. He suspected it was worse for Jo, who was standing beside the still open manhole with her arms folded protectively over her chest as she glowered down into the earth.<p>

He paced over the dried out grass, chancing a glance at Lynn. She too was standing by the manhole, having taken an opposite, almost defensive side of the pit from Jo. Her arms were also folded over her torso, and she was staring at nothing, working her teeth over her lower lip in annoyance.

Sam could feel the tension rolling off the two women beside him, and it was making him sweat under his coat collar. Desperate to break the heat, he turned rather suddenly to Jo and asked, "So, is this job as glamorous as you thought it'd be?"

Jo looked up in surprise, and then a good-natured smile crossed her face. "Well, except for all the pee-your-pants terror? Yeah."

Sam laughed at that, but Lynn cast a dark look in their direction. He swallowed, feeling guilty and caught out, although he wasn't sure why. Jo ignored Lynn completely and focused on him, turning serious. "But that Theresa girl is going to live a life because of us," she pointed out. "It's worth it, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed, possibly just a little too quickly. "Yeah, it is."

Jo looked back down at the manhole. Sam swallowed a newly developed lump in his throat and frowned at the grass under his shoes. He looked over at Lynn and caught her staring at him. She didn't start or turn away when his eyes met hers, however; she simply raised an eyebrow at him, tilting her chin towards the sky. There was something hard and accusatory in her gaze, and it made him chafe under her eyes, and the heat, and his suddenly too bulky, too scratchy coat.

Sam looked away quickly, returning his attention to the ground. "Hey," Jo spoke up suddenly. He was instantly grateful for the distraction. "What happens if somebody finds that sewer down there? Or a storm washes the salt away?"

He smirked. "Both very fine points. Which is why we're waiting here."

Jo frowned at him. "For what?"

The words had barely left her lips when Sam heard the beeping sound of a large truck backing up. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a large, white cement truck backing slowly across the grass lot, towards the manhole. Sam grinned at Jo, who was giving him an incredulous look while trying not to smile back.

Lynn scoffed loudly. "Are you kidding me?"

Sam glanced at her, still smirking. Lynn rolled her eyes at him, but he could see a smile playing on Lynn's face too. Sam turned his attention to the truck. He could see Dean behind the wheel in the large side mirror, and he waved at him, guiding his brother towards the manhole.

When the truck was close enough, Sam placed his still cast-wrapped hand on the truck's chute and hollered at Dean to stop. His brother braked jerkily, and put the truck in park.

Dean hopped down out of the cab and jogged around the back to help Sam lower the chute, aiming it directly into the manhole. A quick glance back at the cab revealed Jayne's blonde head taking Dean's place in the driver's seat. She hopped down from the cab and took her place by a large switch on the side of the drum, waiting for the signal.

Lynn had her hands on her hips, and was trying to look judgmental. The amused smile spreading across her face was not helping her achieve her goal. Jo gave Dean an amused look, also attempting to scoff. "You ripped off a cement truck?" she asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged, smirking. "I'll give it back."

Sam smiled at that. Jo laughed in spite of herself, and even though Lynn rolled her eyes, she too was grinning. Dean waved at Jayne, who flipped the switch. Sam reached up and pulled the release on the drum.

Cement slid down the chute and rained down into the old sewer. Sam smiled, glancing at Jo, who grinned back. Dean smirked again.

"Well, that ought to keep him down there until Hell freezes over," Dean said.

Jo looked all too happy about that prospect. Sam looked across the manhole at Lynn again, who was watching the cement pour down the manhole. She met his eyes, and a soft, amused smile spread across her face. Then she unfolded her arms, visibly relaxing, and sauntered towards her sister, who was still leaning up against the cab of the truck. Sam looked back down at the sewer, feeling vaguely satisfied. It seemed like a good end to what had been a pretty suck-tastic hunt.

Then Dean's phone rang, and Sam's grin vanished as he remembered. They still had to deal with Ellen.

* * *

><p>It was pitch black out save for the glowing street lamps spaced every few hundred feet. Lynn stared at the Impala's back bumper as Jayne navigated the truck down the highway, following the other car at top speed. Both Lynn and her sister were silent; the only sound in the cab was the radio, playing softly in the background. Lynn could barely make out the song over the sound of the tires crunching the asphalt.<p>

In the car up ahead of them were Dean and Sam… and joining the Winchesters in the Impala were Jo and Ellen. They had picked up Ellen from the airport mere hours earlier. After a joyful, tearful reunion with her daughter, Ellen had quickly reverted into her angry, cantankerous self… only she had also adopted an eerie, off-putting silence that made Lynn want to crawl into a corner and hide.

"Ellen's pissed," she offered, no longer able to stand the silence.

Jayne glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "What makes you say that?" she retorted dryly.

Lynn smirked, giving her sister a sideways look. "Ha."

They were silent again, but not for long. Lynn was restless and tired of the quiet. "I'm not going to lie," she said. "Ellen pretty much terrifies me to my very core."

Jayne snorted. "You and me both."

"I don't know what Jo was thinking, lying to her like that. And then she goes and gets herself kidnapped on top of everything else…"

"Cut Jo a little slack," Jayne returned generously. "It's not her fault she got snatched."

"Agree to disagree. And before you make any comments, I'm also annoyed at you for getting yourself kidnapped. So there. Not being biased."

"Yeah, ok."

"I'm not!"

There was another brief pause. Lynn twisted her hands in her lap and glared moodily at the Impala's back bumper again. Her sister was being infuriatingly calm and quiet.

"Did you and Dean talk?" she asked, trying not to sound annoyed. She failed.

"Yep," Jayne replied.

"You sort everything out?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You're not mad at him anymore?"

"I'm always mad at him."

"Seriously."

"What makes you think I'm not serious?"

"Jayne."

Her sister sighed. "What's with all the static?" she asked. "You were the one telling me to back off on him in the sewer. Now you're pissy with him again?"

"I told you to back off because… look, whatever. I'm glad you two made up, I just want to know exactly what's going on with the two of you. You know, so I can gauge how pissed I'm supposed to be at him the next time he tries to pick up some blonde, wannabe hunter."

Jayne rolled her eyes. "Nothing's going on."

"Bull shit!"

Jayne sighed tiredly. Lynn refused to waver, and folded her arms over her chest, glaring at the side of her face. "I'm waiting," she informed her.

There was a pause. Jayne glanced at her, and then rolled her eyes. "How about this?" she retorted. "You'll know when I know. Ok?"

It was far from ok. Lynn glared at her a moment longer, but gave in. Her sister had been through hell that day, even if she was insisting she was fine, and Lynn didn't want to push her any farther. "Fine," she grumbled.

They fell back into their silence. Lynn waited patiently for about ten whole seconds. Then she said, "Why are we following them back to the Roadhouse, anyway? I say we bail, now."

Jayne laughed out loud. "You want to bail?"

"Hell yes! We can meet them somewhere later. Let Sam and Dean deal with Ellen."

"You're kind of a chicken."

"Am not. She's just super scary."

Jayne smirked. "True."

They fell into silence for good then, and Lynn smiled slightly as she settled herself back in her seat. As annoyed as she was with her sister… and Dean… and Jo… and hell, even Sam… she was really, bottom line, just happy to have Jayne back.

She could yell at her more tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Dean had never been so relieved to see the Harvelle Roadhouse in his life.<p>

They pulled into the gravel lot just after dawn, with the sun high enough in the sky to make it necessary to squint out the windshield. Dean parked the Impala just outside the entrance and breathed a sigh of relief as Ellen opened the passenger side door and stepped out of the car, taking all the tension with her.

He'd screwed up; he'd known he'd screwed up. Ellen was never going to forget this, and it just might cost the four of them her friendship. Dean looked in the rearview mirror at Jo, who didn't meet his eyes. She still had her arms folded over her chest as she climbed stiffly out of the backseat and closed the door too quietly behind her.

Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, who breathed a long, tired sigh. "Dude," his brother said. "That was painful."

"You're telling me," Dean grunted back.

He got out of the car with the intention of helping Jo and Ellen with their bags. But when he opened the trunk, Ellen reached in, grabbed Jo's bag and threw it at her, before hefting her own bag and snatching her daughter by the arm, dragging her towards the tavern's front door.

Sam climbed slowly out of the car then, and Dean exchanged a look with him over the roof of the car. His brother shrugged, and Dean rolled his eyes, slamming the trunk shut. He looked over at the pickup parked a few feet away. Jayne and Lynn were both climbing down from the cab of the truck, and it gave him the extra shove he needed to follow Ellen inside the Roadhouse.

To his surprise, the other three did the same. All four of them made their way into the Roadhouse behind Ellen and Jo, even though Dean was fairly certain that doing so made them all suicidal.

"Ellen," he called.

The woman in question whirled around and leveled him with a glare that made him want to hide under the nearest table. Instead, Dean pressed on. "This is my fault," he told her. "Ok? I lied to you, and I'm sorry. But Jo did good out there, and I think her Dad would be proud."

"Don't you dare say that," Ellen snapped. "Not you! I need a moment with my daughter. Alone."

She kept on glaring at him, and Dean quickly realized that he was treading on territory he didn't actually understand. Confused, he glanced at Jo, who didn't look surprised at all. Dean looked away then and backed towards the door. Sam ducked outside before him, but Jayne didn't move. Dean stepped onto the porch and exchanged a look with Lynn, who also wasn't moving despite looking like she really wanted to.

Jayne cleared her throat, and Ellen glared at her. "For the record," she said, evenly and quietly. "I was against Jo working with us out there from the moment she showed up. Not because I think she shouldn't be a hunter, but because I didn't want to have to be the one who trained her. But after everything that went down out there, I really think she's got what it takes. I know you don't want to hear that, and I don't blame you. But she's good at this. And you can be mad at us – god knows you got the right – but I really don't think it matters how much you yell at her or us, because Jo _is_ good at this job, and I'm willing to bet she does this again."

The look on Jo's face was priceless. She was absolutely shocked. Ellen had barely moved at all during Jayne's little speech and her silent fury had not abated .She'd merely transferred her dark look from Dean to Jayne. It didn't seem to bother Jayne that much, and Dean figured it was because Jayne didn't much care if Ellen was mad. She didn't much care about the Roadhouse period or whether or not the people in it liked her or not.

Jayne turned to the door and Dean quickly jogged off the porch. Lynn led the way outside, and the three of them joined Sam by the Impala, where they fell into uncomfortable silence. Dean leaned up against his car and eyed the Roadhouse moodily. He was a little surprised, honestly. Not that Ellen was mad, and not that she'd kicked them out; he was surprised that Jayne had bothered speaking up for Jo the way she had.

The four of them stayed out in the parking lot for several minutes without speaking. Lynn, of course, was the one to break the silence. She never could stand the quiet long. "So… we're just going to hang here?" she asked skeptically. "Outside?"

"Yep," Dean returned shortly.

"Right, so… not leaving, then."

"Nope," Dean retorted.

Lynn sighed. There was another brief silence, and then Lynn offered up a smile for her sister. "You know, that was surprisingly nice of you," Lynn told her. "Sticking up for Jo like that."

"Whatever," Jayne grunted. "Stop talking about it."

Lynn looked put out, but she dropped the subject. Dean watched her out of the corner of his eye, seeing her open her mouth and close it again, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she contemplated what else she could say. Before Lynn could broach another subject that nobody wanted to talk about, however, the front door of the Roadhouse flew open, banging into the side of the tavern, and Jo stormed out.

The tiny blonde woman stopped short on the front porch, staring at them a moment. Then she looked away, clearly irritated, and marched off across the gravel lot, headed for the scrub brush out back of the bar.

Dean followed her. "That bad, huh?" he asked.

Jo refused to look at him. "Not right now."

"What happened?" he asked. Jo ignored him. Dean reached out to touch her shoulder. "Hey, talk to me."

"Get off me!" Jo snapped, flinging his hand away from her.

It stung. Dean stared at her a moment, unaccountably hurt by the outburst. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'll see you around."

He turned to walk away, but Jo stopped him in his tracks. "Dean."

Dean looked over his shoulder at her. Jo stared at him a moment, her eyes hard and determined, and then she marched right at him.

"Turns out my dad had a partner on his last hunt," she announced. "Funny, he usually worked alone; this guy did too, but I guess my father figured he could trust him." Jo sniffed slightly, and Dean could see her fighting back a round of tears. "Mistake. Guy screwed up; got my Dad killed."

He didn't want to be an asshole, but he was tired of getting snapped at for every little thing. "What's that got to do…?"

"It was your father, Dean!" Jo cut him off angrily.

The accusation floored him. Dean couldn't even react properly to it, the words were so unexpected. "What?" he asked.

"Why do you think John never came back?" Jo challenged him. "Never told you about us? Because he couldn't look my mom in the eye after that. That's why."

Slowly, Dean was starting to get the picture. Jo was glaring at him, shaking her head. "You see, that's where my mom's coming from. You wanted to use me as bait, and apparently, I shouldn't have trusted you to have my back. Like father, like sons."

"We didn't…" Dean started to protest, but even to his own ears the words sounded empty. Jo cut him off immediately.

"You were going to," she reminded him. "Let's be honest here, Dean. You wanted to use me as bait, so if something went wrong, Jayne wouldn't be the one in the crossfire."

"That's not fair," Dean replied. "I was never going to let anything happen to you."

Jo scoffed. "Yeah, I'll bet that's what your Dad said too."

He wanted to get angry at her for that, but he couldn't think of anything to say. "Just… just get out of here," Jo said, sounding more tired than angry. "Please, just leave."

She turned her back on him then and marched off towards the scrub brush again. Dean stared after her, wounded in a way he couldn't quite understand. He didn't want to put his father into all this; he didn't want to admit that Jo was probably right. Whatever had gone down on that ill-fated hunt, Dean could bet that Bill Harvelle had been collateral damage. His father had been reckless, he was sure, and Bill had paid the price.

Jo was never supposed to be collateral damage, but he couldn't quite dismiss her accusations of him either. He hadn't wanted to analyze his behavior back in Philadelphia; he hadn't wanted to peek under the surface and understand why he'd done what he'd done and said what he'd said. Lynn had tried to bring it up in the sewer, but he had shut her down. Dean couldn't look at his intentions and motivations because it made him way too uncomfortable.

But it was there, no matter how much he ignored it. Now, there was no way for him to not see it. Jo knew the score far better than he did. He was going to offer her up to Holmes on a silver platter, and it didn't matter how far he'd been willing to go to make sure nothing happened to her. It didn't matter that he'd planned on being right there, the whole time, backing her up. Because deep down, he'd known there was a chance that if Jo played bait, she wouldn't get out of that sewer alive. And that's why he'd suggested Jo. That's why he'd tried to get Jayne out. He'd put Jayne first. If Jayne hadn't called that bullshit and stepped up to the plate in Jo's stead, Jo could very well have been collateral damage too, just like her father.

It was more than uncomfortable; it was ugly and it made Dean feel like crap. He made himself stop looking at Jo and turned back to the other three hunters, waiting for him by his car. They all looked confused and sympathetic, obviously waiting to hear exactly what had happened, and Dean didn't know how to explain what had just gone down.

All he knew was that suddenly, he didn't like himself very much at all.


	12. Feeling That Way Too

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to ColtFan165, SPN Mum, ThreeMoons3, angeleyenc, rivillie, Swallowing Dante, supernatural94, AshlynPaige92, guest, chabitso.0, darksnider666, WinchesterSalvatoreLover, Spelllesswonder29, LoveLeigh, JayHadd, It Belongs In a Museum, Guest, GuestofSPN98 and Guest for all the reviews! Also, thank you to Guest for the recent review on volume one (I assume you'll see this here.) It was sweet of you to say something, and you know what? I kind of think I needed it.

*****AN**: To all the readers asking for pictures of Jayne and Lynn, specifically **WinchesterSalvatoreLover** who made mentions of a banner _*is intrigued/girlishly excited*_… I don't have any? Heh. Sorry. I didn't use any actresses or other movie/book/television characters as a template for Jayne or Lynn… or any of my characters, really. I did look around online for people who looked similar to the images I have in my mind, but that was a big fat failure. Also, I felt weird about it. I'm more of a 'your mental picture of my character is just as valid as anyone else's, including mine' type of writer. So, basically, I have no pictures. Picture Jayne and Lynn how you always did. And WinchesterSalvatoreLover, if you choose to make a banner, use any actress your heart desires. I won't lie; I'm rather excited about this banner prospect. _*winks*_

Sorry this took so long again! I know, I suck. I don't even have an excuse; I just struggled with a few parts of this chapter. Or most of this chapter, actually. Sorry again, and thanks for the patience!

* * *

><p>Chapter 12: Feeling That Way Too<p>

Lynn leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the passenger side window, feeling the vibrations from the road as she watched Janis' tires eat up the highway. It was cool and gray outside, and her sister's depressing, twangy music only added to the gloom. Lynn kept her eyes peeled for the 'Welcome to Kentucky' sign that they were due to see in the next few miles.

"You sure about this?" Jayne suddenly grunted at her.

Lynn frowned, lifting her face off the window and turning her eyes to Jayne. Her sister's eyes were on the road, but she spared Lynn a brief, skeptical glance. "Sure about what?" Lynn asked. "Going to see the Hannigans? What's to be sure about?"

Jayne shrugged, tapping her fingers nervously on the steering wheel. "I don't know… we haven't seen them in awhile, I know. And I want to see them, don't get me wrong. I just… why now?"

Lynn didn't understand why her sister couldn't answer that question on her own. "Seriously? We just got, for all intents and purposes, practically _banned_ from the Roadhouse, and everybody's all depressed about it, and…"

"And what?" Jayne snorted. "We're going to the Pub to prove to everyone that we don't need the Roadhouse? We have our own little version of the Roadhouse? The Harvelles can suck it?"

Lynn raised her eyebrows incredulously at her sister. "Um, yeah. Duh."

Jayne rolled her eyes.

"What do you care?" Lynn asked accusingly. "You don't even like the Roadhouse."

"Never said that."

"Well, you sure act like you don't."

Jayne cleared her throat awkwardly and changed the subject. "You call ahead and tell Rufus we were coming?"

"Nope," Lynn replied. She was tempted to change the subject right back to the Harvelles, but decided to cut her sister some slack. "Wanted it to be a surprise."

Jayne nodded and fell silent. Lynn eyed her sister moodily, playing with the ends of her ponytail. She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and said in a rush, "I called Steve and asked him to meet us there."

Her sister raised her eyebrow. "Ok…"

"I left a message," Lynn added quickly. "I didn't actually talk to him; I don't know what he's going to do."

Jayne nodded again without offering any further commentary. Lynn watched her anxiously for a moment, only to get frustrated when her sister's silence proved permanent. "Well?" she asked impatiently. "Is that cool?"

"Sure," Jayne shrugged. "That's cool."

That was all Jayne had to offer her, and it wasn't enough. Lynn couldn't even decipher her sister's tone. There was nothing there to suggest how she felt one way or the other; no annoyance, no resentment, no excitement.

She hated it when her sister got all cryptic.

"I just thought, you know, that we hadn't seen him in a while," Lynn offered.

Jayne shot her an incredulous look. "Lynn, it's barely been a week!"

"So you don't want to see him again?"

"Did not say that. I wouldn't mind seeing him. Just saying, really hasn't been that long."

Lynn studied her sister critically. Jayne's eyes were on the road, so at first she didn't notice. When she finally caught onto Lynn staring at her, she shot her yet another incredulous frown. "What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Lynn shrugged, averting her eyes.

Jayne sighed and rolled her eyes. "This visit's going to get all weird, isn't it?"

Lynn shrugged again. "I don't know."

"What's going on?"

"I said nothing."

"You're being weird. Like you're trying to get something out of me. Only you're not getting it, and it's making you pissy."

"I'm fine. You're fine. We're all fine."

Jayne pursed her lips, focusing on the road. Lynn shot her another scrutinizing, sideways look. Her sister ignored her eyes, and the two of them fell into an awkward, uncomfortable silence. Jayne kept her eyes on the road, and Lynn returned her forehead to the passenger window, watching again as the highway rolled by under their wheels.

They were quiet the rest of the way to Stamping Ground.

* * *

><p>It was dark out by the time Jayne wheeled her old pickup down the dead-end dirt road that led to Hannigan's Pub. There were no streetlamps out here, and only Jayne's headlights cut through the night as they took the twisty, forest-lined lane. Once the Pub came into view, however, the glow of the lights through the tall, old, white building's many windows lit up the dusty lane.<p>

Jayne parked her pickup in the grass outside the Pub, right up next to the large front porch. She could see Rufus' old farmhouse sitting several feet back from the Pub, dark as the night around it. There were busted old cars and trucks and motorcycles parked all over the grass and the circle of dirt that signaled the end of the road.

She heard Dean's Impala growl behind her as he whipped his car into the small space beside her truck. Lynn sighed impatiently, shaking her head in the passenger seat. "Ready?" she asked.

Jayne nodded. "Let's go on in."

Lynn swung open the door and hopped down into the grass. Jayne waited quietly until Lynn had slammed the door, and then took a deep breath to steel herself. She didn't have a problem with the Pub, she didn't mind seeing Rufus and Deedee, and she wasn't afraid to see her little brother again.

Except she kind of was afraid to see him again. She hadn't seen him since Dean's little announcement, and Jayne still wasn't sure whether or not she was going to repeat John's dying words to Steve. On the one hand he had the right to know; she got that. On the other… well, Jayne wasn't sure how to say it, or what to say exactly, or how Steve would take it.

To tell the truth, Jayne wasn't sure about anything anymore.

She knew Dean sure as hell wasn't talking, and that too made her hesitate, although logically it shouldn't. It wasn't her problem if Dean wasn't going to tell Sam the truth. It wasn't her problem if Steve and Lynn told Sam instead, after she told them. Dean should not factor into this decision.

But he did factor in, and man, did that bug her.

There was a loud tap on her window, and Jayne jumped in her seat. She frowned at the sight of Dean leaning over her truck, raising his eyebrow at her. "You coming in or not?" he hollered at her, his voice muffled by the glass.

She rolled her eyes and threw open her door, knocking Dean back several steps. "Yeah, I'm coming," she grunted, hopping down from the cab. "Hold your horses."

Jayne slammed the door shut and marched towards the Pub. Lynn and Sam had already ducked in ahead of them, and she couldn't quite see them through the throng of people just inside the swinging front doors. Dean jogged to catch up with her, and the two of them clambered onto the porch and through the door together.

The Pub was packed, and the sounds of heavy classic rock were booming through the dated speaker system. She couldn't see Lynn at all, and surprisingly enough Sam was also missing. Tall as the kid was, he was usually easy to spot, even in a crowd. Jayne shrugged, and started pushing her way through the throng, headed for the bar. Lynn and Sam were most likely already seated there, ordering beers and talking to Deedee.

Dean followed close behind her – too close, actually. It was like he was breathing down her neck. Jayne led him to the bar, finding two open stools down at the very end and grabbing one of them before anyone else could. Dean slid onto the stool beside her and Jayne leaned over the counter, looking for Deedee.

The tiny redhead was kneeling behind the counter, pulling beers out of a cooler. Jayne whistled at her, and Deedee looked up in surprise. Slowly, a smirk spread across her old friend's face. Deedee handed the beers over to her paying customers, and then bounced on down the bar, coming to a stop in front of Jayne and Dean.

"Long time, no see," Deedee exclaimed, reaching over the counter to give Jayne an awkward, one-armed hug. Jayne rolled her eyes and pulled away as quickly as possible. Deedee didn't seem to notice. "And look what you dragged in with you."

Deedee smirked at Dean with a mixture of amusement and contempt. Jayne raised her eyebrow as Dean smirked back, making one of his patented pickup faces. "Howdy. Deedee, right?"

"Yep," Deedee retorted, popping her p. "Tom, was it?"

Dean had the decency to look a little abashed, ducking his head and offering up a slightly apologetic chuckle. "Dean, actually."

"Oops. Dean, right. Sorry about the confusion there. What's up, Jaynie?"

Deedee returned her full attention to Jayne, smiling bright and cheesy, leaving Dean dismissed. Jayne hid her amusement at his put-out expression. "Lynn wanted to pop by for a visit," she explained. "Sorry about the no notice thing."

"Don't apologize; you know you two are welcome anytime. And what do you mean _Lynn_ wanted to pop by? You trying to tell me you didn't?"

Her old friend was fixing her with a glare that was half fake and half threatening. Jayne rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Of course I wanted to come by."

"Good. Where _is_ Lynn?"

"Around here somewhere."

"Is the taller, younger, more puppy-eyed Winchester with her?"

Dean frowned at that, looking mildly offended. Jayne smirked. "Yeah, he should be," she answered Deedee.

"Awesome. I like him _so_ much better than this one."

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed, affronted. Jayne stifled a snort.

Deedee rolled her eyes. "Whatevs, _Tom_," she retorted.

"Rufus around?" Jayne asked.

"You're in luck," Deedee replied. "He's out on a hunt with Danny, but they're coming back later tonight. First visit since Danny left the nest. Exciting, right?"

Jayne smirked. "Sure."

"Well, I thought it was," Deedee said. Then she smiled and slapped her dishrag on the countertop. "So, what will it be?"

Dean squinted at the shelves behind Deedee's head. "Uh…"

"Let me guess," Deedee interrupted him. "A PBR and a double shot of Jack?"

Jayne raised her eyebrow at that. Dean frowned incredulously at the tiny redhead before stuttering out an astonished chuckle. "Damn, you've got one crazy memory."

"Like an elephant," Deedee returned. "But only for the things that piss me off."

"PBR and a double shot of Jack sounds good," Jayne intervened. "Get him one too."

"You got it, Jaynie," she replied, ducking under the counter. Deedee reappeared two second later with two PBRs and two large shot glasses, and plopped one of each in front of Jayne and Dean. Then she turned around, grabbed the Jack Daniels off the shelf, and poured them each a double.

"So," Deedee said, pushing the shot glasses towards them. "What's been going on lately? You and Lynn haven't stopped by since that little possession fiasco."

"What possession fiasco?" Dean asked immediately.

"We told you about this," Jayne retorted. "That demon possessed Deedee, back when you and Sam were looking for… for John."

She hesitated around his father's name. Dean took it in stride, although she saw a flicker of hurt flash through his eyes. Deedee stared at them both, raising an eyebrow. "I'm fine, though," Deedee added. "Totally traumatizing, but I'm kind of a badass, so…"

Dean grimaced. "Sorry," he grunted.

"Don't be. Seriously, Jaynie, I'm kind of surprised you and Lynn are still riding with these boys, though."

Jayne looked up at Deedee in surprise, while Dean got all affronted again. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean… it's you and Lynn. If I squint, I can almost understand Lynn doing this, but you going along with it? What's the deal, exactly?"

It was an excellent question. What _was_ the deal, anyway? Jayne knew how it started, and she knew how she rationalized it continuing, and she even knew, deep down, why she wanted to keep going like this. But did everyone else know? Did they agree with her rationalizations? And exactly how long did the four of them think they could keep this arrangement up?

After all, it had to end sometime, even if Jayne really didn't want to admit it.

"Hey!" a heavy, balding, tattooed biker shouted from down the bar, saving Jayne from answering. "What the hell, Deedee? There's a freaking line building down here!"

"Shut up, Hurley!" Deedee hollered back. "Either you can wait, or you can waddle your ass out the door! I'm busy!"

She rolled her eyes and huffed, returning her attention to Jayne and Dean. Jayne covered her mouth, trying to fight off an amused smirk. "So rude," Deedee announced. Then she frowned at Jayne. "Why are you shaking your head at me?"

Jayne let the smirk form completely on her face. "Just… promise me you won't get me into any bar brawls tonight."

Deedee grinned and slapped her rag down on the bar again. "But I love getting you into bar brawls!"

"Hey!" another patron bellowed at Deedee. "I've been waiting forever here!"

"Hold your horses!" Deedee snapped. Then she rolled her eyes again and addressed Jayne. "Sorry, Jaynie. Looks like I have to go pour more shots for drunken idiots. Kind of my job." She made to walk away towards the line of irritated, demanding customers, but pointed a warning finger at Jayne as she left. "We'll continue this discussion later," she promised.

Jayne grimaced at Deedee's retreating back. "Wow," Dean muttered, taking a gulp of his PBR. "She really doesn't like me."

"That's Deedee," she returned dryly. "Queen of holding a grudge."

He smirked and put his beer down. Jayne raised her eyebrow when he stared at her for a moment. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

They were quiet for a moment. Jayne drew lines in the condensation on her beer bottle. "Lynn called Steve," she spoke up suddenly. "Asked him to meet us here. He didn't pick up, so she left a voicemail. We don't know if he'll be here later or not."

Dean stiffened. Jayne smirked at the counter, although she couldn't help feeling just a little bit sad. "Well, uh… that's… good," Dean hedged out uncomfortably.

She really didn't know how he could be such a terrible liar and a successful con artist at the same time. "Say it like you mean it."

"I do!"

"You hate my brother."

Her accusation was met with another awkward silence. Dean rolled his eyes and glared at his shot glass. Jayne frowned at the floor.

"I don't hate him," Dean spoke. "I just… don't like him. There's a difference."

"Whatever."

It suddenly became necessary to change the subject. Jayne ran her finger around the rim of her double shot, trying to think of a way to backtrack. The jukebox switched tracks, and an old, familiar tune started playing. Jayne made a face.

"I hate Journey," she grumbled.

A huge, boyish smile spread across Dean's face. Jayne frowned at him. "What now?" she demanded.

"You know what we haven't done in awhile?"

Jayne blinked. His smirk got wider, and he had the audacity to wink at her. Jayne raised her eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

Dean nodded, still smirking.

She shook her head. "Not a chance. Not here. Not while Journey is playing in the background."

"I'll meet you upstairs."

Her mouth fell open. Dean threw back his double, and then winked at her one more time before jogging towards the stairs.

"No, you won't!" she hollered after him.

Dean ignored her.

For a moment, Jayne sat at the bar, staring at the empty stool beside her. She shook her head again, and looked down at the counter. She glared at the jukebox, running her finger around the rim of her shot glass again. Then she rolled her eyes and tossed back her shot.

"What the hell," she muttered, getting to her feet and heading for the stairs.

He jumped her in the upstairs hallway. No sooner had she stepped off the top step, Dean sprung out of the shadows and grabbed her around the waist, his lips smashing into hers. A surprised, muffled shriek escaped her throat before she succumbed to the pressure, letting Dean press her into the wall and kiss his way from her mouth to her neck.

Her nerve endings exploded. Jayne sagged against him and he tightened his arms around her, pulling her off her feet and onto his chest. She fisted one hand in his hair, still pinned between him and the wall as his warm, wet mouth worked his way over her neck. His hands found her thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh, and he lifted her up higher, pressing himself between her legs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning slightly as he pressed against her core, already hard, sending heat through her center.

She yanked his head away from her neck by his hair, and forced her lips against his. Dean groaned as her tongue slid into his mouth, pressing her tighter between his chest and the wall.

Breathless, she pulled away, and he leaned his forehead on hers. One hand traced circles on her thigh. "Why don't we do this more often?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Mostly because you're a jackass who pisses me off a lot," she retorted.

His smirk got wider. Jayne grabbed his shirt collar and yanked his lips back down to hers. Dean reacted instantly, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss. She reached behind her with her free hand and grabbed the nearest doorknob, spinning it enough for the door to pop open.

Dean didn't need her intentions spelled out for him. He tightened his grip on her legs and hauled her off the wall. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him harder as he carried her inside the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind them.

Jayne toppled backwards onto the bed. Dean was on top of her immediately, his hands taking their place back on her thighs as he planted soft wet kisses on her neck. She yanked his jacket off his shoulders, and he tossed it on the floor. Her hands hooked under the lapels of his flannel shirt and she tugged that off too, before grabbing the hem of his tee shirt and pulling it insistently over his head.

She ran her hand over his bare skin as he started undoing buttons on her shirt. Grabbing him around the waist with her legs, Jayne flipped the two of them over and shrugged the rest of the way out of her flannel, dropping it on the floor. Dean yanked her wife beater over her head and tossed it at the back wall.

Jayne pressed her lips on his chest, nipping at his neck in the places that made him moan. Her hand traveled over the hard muscles in his stomach, and she unhooked the fly on his jeans. His hand came up and undid the clasp on her bra.

The bra hit the floor. Dean sat up, grabbing her around the waist, and switched their positions again. His hard, warm chest was pressed up against hers, and his lips found their place on her neck once more. He pulled on the zipper on her jeans, and soon the two of them had removed all their clothes.

They took their time. It started slow and gentle, and then got hard and fast, and all too quickly both of them were crying out as they came. She didn't bother keeping track of the time; had no idea how long it took them to reach their peaks and come back down again.

She lay still and spent on top of the comforter, catching her breath, and Dean lay beside her. They stared up at the ceiling, not speaking and not looking at one another. Then, suddenly, Jayne felt him tangle his hand in hers.

Jayne turned towards him, raising her eyebrow. He smirked. "Told you we should do that more often."

She laughed. He let go of her hand and pulled her in for a kiss. It was soft and short, and then he pulled her in for another one. Soon, he was climbing on top of her again.

"Feeling ambitious?" she asked dryly.

"Shut up," he told her, kissing her again.

* * *

><p>Lynn heaved a sigh, rubbing her temples. She moved her head from side to side and drummed her fingers impatiently on the bar. The Pub was packed that night, and not only was it impossible to get a drink, it was impossible to find a member of the Hannigan family. For that matter, it was impossible to find the other half of their group. Jayne and Dean had vanished into the crowd.<p>

Sam was still with her, though. That wasn't necessarily a good thing. The two of them were silent and awkward as they sat at the end of the bar, mere yards away from the entrance. Lynn craned her neck for any sight of Deedee or the Pub's second bartender, Beatrice. Sam stared silently at the liquor shelf behind the bar, indulging in his annoying habit of biting his knuckles.

"Will you stop that?" she snapped, unable to control herself. "It's so gross."

Sam blinked in astonishment, looked down at his knuckles (which were still in his mouth) and then quickly yanked his hand away. "Sorry," he murmured, staring down at the bar.

Lynn rolled her eyes, and then bit her lip. She immediately felt like Cruella Deville kicking Dalmatian puppies. Lynn opened her mouth reluctantly, steeling herself to apologize.

Deedee chose that moment to appear. She grinned wickedly at the pair of them and slapped her rag down on the counter. Sam jumped, and Lynn felt her lips twitch into a wide, happy smile.

"Well, well," Deedee announced, leaning against the bar. "Surprise, surprise. Finally decide to swing by and pay your old friend a visit?"

Lynn's grin grew even wider. "Hey, Deedee. What's up?"

"Not a whole lot," Deedee told her. "No demons, no weird arguments… business as usual. Just saw your sister, up the other end of the bar."

"Wondered where she got to."

"Now you know. Hey there, Puppy Eyes."

Sam blinked again, jerking up straighter on his barstool. Lynn raised her eyebrow at Deedee, who rested her hip on the counter and gave Sam an appraising, evil-minded look. Sam swallowed noticeably. "Uh… hi? It's… Sam, by the way."

"Yes, I know," Deedee smirked. Then she turned her attention back to Lynn. "So, is this a business visit or a friendly visit? Didn't get much out of your sis."

"Friendly," Lynn returned determinedly. "Just… wanted to see you guys. Where's Rufus?"

"Out on a hunt with Danny. He's bringing the idiot back with him tonight, though, so you really will get to see all of us. I'm glad you two came, though. It's been so long since we've seen you just to see you."

Lynn ducked her head. "You're right. It has."

"So, what do you two want?"

"Two PBRs," Sam spoke up.

Deedee nodded and reached under the counter for the requested drinks. She popped the bottle caps and slid the beers onto the counter in front of them. Sam quickly took a gulp of his drink.

"So…" Deedee drawled, leaning her elbows on the bar. She was focused on Lynn and ignoring Sam again. "You two are still rolling with Puppy Eyes and Tom, huh?"

Sam choked a little on his beer. "Tom?" he asked.

"Your brother," Deedee replied dismissively, her attention remaining on Lynn. "I tried asking Jaynie about it, but she didn't really seem keen to analyze that decision. So now, I'm asking you. What's up with that?"

Lynn frowned. "What are you trying to say, Deedee?"

Deedee rolled her eyes. "Come on, seriously? It's you and Jayne. You two are like… solo artists. Well, not really, because you work together, but you don't work with anyone else. I guess I'm just trying to figure out what provokes two badass hunters with no inclination towards teamwork to team up with Beavis and Butthead."

Sam choked on his beer again. Deedee flashed him a bright smile. "No offense!"

"Yeah," Sam retorted, still coughing slightly. "I'll bet."

Deedee was still focused on Lynn, however, and paid Sam's sarcasm no mind. "I'm just wondering why the four of you are still together, I guess. What's the point?"

Lynn felt put on the spot. What the hell was she supposed to say to that? She knew damn well what the point was, but explaining the point to Deedee made it necessary to reveal several secret tidbits about Steve and Sam and the yellow-eyed demon. As far as Lynn knew, the four of them had resolved to keep all that quiet from everyone – even the Hannigans.

_But Sam told the Harvelles_, a little voice whispered in Lynn's head. They'd barely known the Harvelles, after all, and yet Sam had spit out every little detail about the hunt for the demon, and the problem of the special children. Dean and Jayne had been livid, a fact Jayne had expounded on quite a bit when she'd repeated the incident to Lynn.

She glanced at Sam. He gave her a questioning look. She was inclined to believe he wanted to speak up and tell all; gain a few allies. Lynn was inclined to do the same; it was _Deedee_ for crying out loud! But something stopped her.

That something was Jayne. That something was Dean. That something was Steve, and Russ, and John. It was all tangled up in one complicated, multi-layered knot, and Lynn didn't know where to start, or who felt what. She wanted to fess up, but she couldn't betray everyone like that.

If she was going to talk, then she'd have to at least warn the others.

"We just like hunting together," she told Deedee, and it was only half a lie. At this point in the game, the four of them actually did like hunting together. It was weird to think about going their separate ways once again. "It works for us. What's the big deal?"

Deedee raised a skeptical eyebrow and frowned at her pensively. "Hmm."

Lynn was spared further interrogation when a surly customer hollered at Deedee, "Excuse me! I've been waiting here forever!"

"Keep your pants on!" Deedee snapped back. She rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the bar. "People have been so impatient today."

Lynn blinked as Deedee made to walk away. "We'll talk later," Deedee promised. "If Beatrice ever shows up for her goddamn shift!"

Then Deedee was gone, dancing her way down the line of aggravated, impatient customers. Lynn couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief. She glanced at Sam, who was staring moodily into his beer.

"That was close," she offered, trying to make conversation.

"Yeah," Sam said flatly. "Close. Can I ask you something?"

She was tempted to say no. Instead she replied, "Of course."

"Why haven't you and Jayne told the Hannigans everything by now? I thought they were like extended family."

Lynn bristled. She clutched her beer bottle just a little too tightly. Then she took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, staring distantly at the back shelf.

"You'd have to ask Jayne," she murmured.

He studied her a moment. Lynn avoided his gaze, but couldn't help glancing at him out the corner of her eye. There was silence, and then she saw his face shift as he stared at the space above her head. She frowned, opening her mouth to ask what the hell is problem was _now_, but a tap on her shoulder killed that question before it began.

She turned around and discovered her little brother standing behind her. "Steve," she murmured in surprise. "Uh… you're here."

Steve shrugged, leaning nonchalantly on the bar. "You called."

"Yeah, I just wasn't sure you'd show," she replied, reaching for her phone to check her messages. "Did you even call…?"

"No," Steve replied, halting her cell phone search. "I was nearby, so I figured I'd just show up."

Lynn blinked, and then opted for a smile. "Well, that's good. I'm glad."

He nodded. There was a distant look on his face, and she could sense he was feeling moody. His eyes passed over Sam every once in awhile, like he wasn't really seeing him.

Lynn frowned. The three of them were being silent now, and it was awkward. Just then, she noticed the folder tucked under her brother's arm and pounced on the possibility of conversation. "What's that?" she asked, making a grab for the folder.

Steve skillfully ducked out of her reach. "Watch it, Handsy!"

"What is it?" she repeated petulantly. "A case?"

"Maybe."

He glared suspiciously at Sam. Lynn frowned again, looking at Sam too. The younger Winchester was shifting uncomfortably on his barstool, trying to hide his discomfort by staring at his beer. The attempt was futile. Lynn was very aware of the curious, slightly resentful glances Sam kept throwing her brother. Obviously, Sam thought he was being discreet.

Sam was wrong.

She turned on Steve, jutting her chin in the air. "If you've got something to say to me, Steve, you can say it in front of Sam."

Sam looked up with wide, uncertain eyes. Steve just grunted; his annoyance was clear from the glower on his face. "Maybe we should find Jayne first," he grumbled.

"Well, ok," Lynn replied hesitantly. She studied him, unsure. "Uh… I know she's in here with Dean somewhere, so…"

Steve grimaced. "Great," he drawled sarcastically. "So the whole gang's here."

It took a lot of energy not to snap. "You knew we would be," she pointed out.

He grunted again. "Let's just find Jayne," he suggested.

"Ok…"

"Be right back, Winchester."

Lynn intended to protest Sam's exclusion, but Steve grabbed her arm and hauled her off the barstool, dragging her away before she could say anything.

"Steve," she growled as he shoved his way through the crowded pub. "What the hell?"

"Look, it's personal," Steve growled back. "Ok? Maybe I'm not sure we should let Butch and Sundance in on this just yet."

Lynn rolled her eyes. Then she got excited as she contemplated what Steve could mean by 'personal.' She clutched his elbow in enthusiasm. "What is it, then? Demon stuff? Special superpower stuff?"

"It's about your mom."

She froze in the middle of the crowd. Steve almost didn't notice, but her grip on his elbow tripped him up. It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Lynn, what…?"

"My mom?" she interrupted. "What about my mom? What did you find?"

Steve glanced left to right, radiating discomfort. Lynn narrowed her eyes. "I didn't even know you were looking," she added.

It sounded like an accusation. Steve tensed, but didn't comment on her tone. "Well, I have. Not hardcore obsessively or anything, but I _have_ been keeping an eye on her old place in Brooklyn, just in case something cropped up… and something finally did."

Lynn blinked. She swallowed. "What?" she asked hesitantly.

Steve glanced about furtively again, and then resumed dragging her through the bar. "Not here."

She rolled her eyes again, but let Steve haul her through the crowd and into the back of the pub. They left the noisy patrons and loud music behind them. It was starkly quiet in the back, with all the noise of the front muffled by the wall.

Steve hauled her into the storeroom, checked to make sure no one was around, and then shut the door. Lynn raised her eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest.

"What?" Steve asked, observing her look.

"Is this really necessary?"

Steve ignored that comment and stepped away from the door, opening his folder. He pulled out a newspaper clipping and thrust it at her. "Look," he demanded.

Lynn took the clipping and looked. It was an obituary for a young Brooklyn resident who had thrown herself from a fourth-story window and died on impact. There was an address where condolences could be sent, but Lynn didn't recognize it.

"What's your point?" she asked.

Steve thrust a second clipping at her. Lynn frowned at the paper in her hand. It was from the classified page, and Steve had circled a particular ad in sharpie. It was a for-rent notice, and Lynn immediately recognized the address.

"This is my mother's old place," she announced.

Her brother nodded. "Right. That apartment has been quiet since you and Jayne visited Brooklyn all those months ago. Then, right at the same time that obit circulated, that advertisement appeared."

She looked up at Steve in sudden understanding. "You think this woman killed herself in my mother's old apartment… the same way my mother supposedly killed _herself_."

He nodded. Lynn frowned down at the newspaper clippings, and shook her head. "I don't get it," she murmured. "How did you even know to look for this?"

"It wasn't that hard," he muttered, shrugging. "I saw the apartment went up for rent, I checked out the last tenant, and I found the obit."

Lynn pressed her lips tightly together. She glared down at the newspaper clippings in her hands, shaking her head slightly. Steve awkwardly cleared his throat, running his hand over the stubble on his close-shaven head. Slowly, Lynn sank down to the floor and sat cross legged with her back against the wall. "I can't believe you did this," she whispered. "I can't believe you've been looking."

Steve sighed and backed away, perching on the top of a large keg. "Should I not have looked?" he asked. "Should I not have told you?"

"No," she retorted fiercely, looking him the eye. "Of course you should have told me. I want to know. I just… I can't believe you've been… I haven't been looking."

She admitted it in a jumble of half formed sentences, and Steve barely even blinked at the acknowledgement. "Oh."

Lynn exhaled harshly and tossed the newspaper clippings to the side. "I just… couldn't. You know? I… I needed… I didn't want to… I didn't want to think about it."

She couldn't think about it. It had been a niggling thought at the back of her mind, haunting every step she took without ever fully showing itself. Lynn had kept it pushed back there, refusing to completely look at it for months. She'd been busy, after all. Meg… Yellow Eyes… Faye… John… there had been no time for Inez.

For awhile she sat on the floor in silence, her fingers ghosting over the corners of the newspaper clippings. Steve kept his perch on the keg, studying her. After a few moments, he cleared his throat and broke the silence.

"I thought maybe you'd want to go," he suggested carefully. "To Brooklyn. You know, have another look around. Maybe something will turn up this time."

She didn't say anything. Steve watched her for a moment. He sighed. "Look, if you don't want to…"

"I want to talk to Jayne about this," she interrupted suddenly, getting to her feet. Steve blinked up at her as she stormed towards the storeroom door. Lynn turned the knob and swung it open, only to meet sudden resistance. The door slammed shut in her face again.

Frowning, she tried opening the door once more. It wouldn't budge.

"What the fuck is this?" she exclaimed.

"Sorry, Lynn," she heard Deedee's voice from outside of the door. "But this is for your own good."

Steve got up and joined her at the door. "Deedee?" he asked.

"Hello, Steve," Deedee returned snidely. "Long time, no see."

"Deedee, what the hell are you doing?" Lynn snapped. She currently did not have the patience for this. "Open this door right now!"

"No!" Deedee snapped back, the effect ruined slightly as the door muffled her voice. "Not until the three of us get a few thing straightened out."

Lynn growled in aggravation, knocking her forehead against the door. "Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"

"Deedee, open the damn door!" Steve bellowed, pounding his fist into the wood several times for emphasis.

"Not until you two start talking!" Deedee shouted. "I want to know what the hell is going on!"

Lynn swallowed. She glanced at Steve out the corner of her eye. Her brother frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" Deedee retorted. "The three of you with your secret demon hunting, and your little temporary alliance with the idiot twins… which, by the way, has been going on for a _very_ long-ass time for something _supposed_ to be temporary!"

"Hey!" Steve barked back. "I am _not_ in alliance with the idiot twins!"

"Can we stop calling them the idiot twins?" Lynn exclaimed, officially beyond annoyed.

"I want to know what's going on," Deedee repeated stubbornly. "What aren't you telling us?"

Lynn didn't have an answer to that. She swallowed, folding her arms over her chest, feeling small and traitorous. They couldn't have kept up the act forever; that she knew. Sooner or later, one of the Hannigans was going to realize they hadn't been completely honest about their family demon hunt, and it looked like it was going to be sooner.

She glanced at her brother again. Steve sighed, sounding exhausted. He leaned his head against the locked storeroom door. "Deedee," he practically groaned. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you three are keeping secrets from us, and its bullshit!" Deedee snapped. "Daddy, Danny and I are your family, and you're throwing us over for the Winchesters!"

Lynn swallowed, closing her eyes and trying to find some patience. It was hard to do while feeling so guilty. "Deedee, that's not what's going on," she said softly.

"Then what _is_ going on?"

She wasn't sure how to answer that. So she looked at Steve, as if hoping he'd grant her permission to tell Deedee everything. He met her eyes briefly, looked down at the floor in a very guilty fashion, and then pounded on the door again. "Damn it, Deedee, let us out of here!"

"No!"

"Why are you picking on us, huh?" Steve demanded. "Where's Jayne? How come she doesn't get locked in the storeroom?"

"Don't you worry about Jayne," Deedee returned, sounding a little too proud of herself. "I fixed her. I sent Danny looking for her."

Lynn frowned again. "What does _that_ mean?"

"You'll see," Deedee replied in a sing-song voice. "Now, I can do this _all_ night. You two want out of here, you better start talking."

"I'll shoot the lock off the door," Steve threatened.

"Well, then you're paying for it."

"I don't understand," Lynn said, trying to sound confused. She wasn't doing a great job of it, because she did in fact understand completely. "Why do you think we're lying to you?"

"Don't insult me," Deedee snapped. "I wasn't asleep for all of it, you know."

Lynn instantly felt like the worst person in the world. She inhaled deeply, squeezing her eyes shut and balling her fists up tight at her sides.

Deedee kept going. "Actually, I was awake for a lot. I heard things, Lynn. Things that freaked me out. That Faye bitch knew a lot more about your yellow-eyed demon hunt than we ever did. I know that thing killed Ana, I know that you three have been hunting it ever since Russ deemed you old enough to hold a shotgun, and I know that the Winchesters must have a similar story to tell, or you wouldn't have bothered teaming up with them. Those are the things I know. But what I don't understand is why that demon came after me and Daddy. I don't understand why she wanted you three dead. I don't understand what she was talking about when she called Steve a mistake, I don't understand why the yellow-eyed demon went after the Winchesters, and I don't understand why you won't tell me."

At that moment, Lynn wanted nothing more than to confess _everything_ to Deedee. She wanted to tell her the whole long, terrifying story about Sam's visions and Steve's fire thing, and she wanted to beg Deedee to help her figure the whole stupid thing out. But she couldn't quite do it; couldn't quite bring herself to commit the betrayal.

So she looked at Steve, once again silently asking for permission. He rolled his eyes, and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his temples. Then he kicked the door, stomped away, and growled in frustration before slumping dejectedly back onto the keg. Lynn kept staring at him, and he met her eyes. A wordless nod was all he gave her – but that was all she needed.

"Ok," she announced calmly, facing the door. "You're right, Deedee. We should have told you a long time ago. Let us out, track down Jayne, Sam and Dean, and then we'll tell you everything. Ok?"

There was a pause. Lynn started to wonder if Deedee had left them in the storeroom to rot. Then she heard the click of the lock, and the storeroom door slowly creaked open.

Deedee looked a little sheepish, standing in the doorway and hugging her arms over her torso. She shrugged apologetically. Lynn raised her eyebrow, and Steve stood up off the keg on the other side of the room.

"All right," Deedee said in a small voice. "You can come out now."

* * *

><p>Somehow, the two of them had ended up under the comforter this time. Dean wasn't sure how. He lay still in the bed above Hannigan's Pub, catching his breath after a rousing round two, and dragged his fingers through Jayne's hair. Her head was on his shoulder and her eyes were on the ceiling. He could hear her heavy breathing as she struggled to come back down again.<p>

Really, they should talk about this. What they'd said to one another back in Philadelphia… well, that was _not _talking about this. This, of course, being the awesome sex they'd decided they were going to keep having.

But Dean was afraid to talk about it, and he conjectured from all the silence Jayne had to offer that she was equally terrified.

"We should go back down," she murmured lazily. "Before they wonder where we got to."

"Mm-hmm," he replied noncommittally.

There was the other thing they should talk about. Were 'they' allowed to know about 'this?' Was the awesome sex a secret?

Hell if he knew.

"Or," he offered in a low tone. "We could do _this_ instead."

His hand traveled south, grazing her breast. He rolled over top of her once again, his lips suckling at her neck. Jayne snorted and smacked his hand away. "What, did you pop a Viagra?"

"You are the least romantic woman on the planet."

"You're one to talk."

"Excuse me? I am the _king_ of romance. I'll romance you so hard, you'll be humming Barry White tunes straight through next spring."

Jayne rolled her eyes and gave him a playful swat on the cheek. "You're a dork."

"I'll show you a dork."

He grabbed her again and nipped her on the neck. She laughed out loud. Dean fully intended to keep going, but suddenly the door swung open and banged into the wall.

"Yo! Gibson! You in here? What's… oh my god!"

The all too familiar, extremely annoying voice of Danny Hannigan echoed into the room. Jayne froze underneath him, a mortified expression passing over her face. Dean rolled off her immediately, yanking the covers up over both of them in an attempt at modesty – although, if he was being honest, he simply did not want Danny looking at Jayne like that.

Danny was still standing in the doorway with the light from the hall spilling across the bed, gaping at them in shock. "Holy crap," the giant redhead murmured faintly. "Are you two… you two are…!"

"Get out!" Dean barked. "Get out, right now!"

"Are you two _doing it_?"

Dean glared at the interloper. Danny gaped at them some more as Jayne covered her eyes in embarrassment. Then the idiot _laughed._

Like, really laughed. Hard and loud, as though Dean having sex with Jayne was the funniest joke he'd ever heard.

"Would you get the fuck out of here already?"Jayne demanded.

"Sorry, lovebirds… didn't mean to interrupt…"

"Bullshit," Jayne snapped. "Get out!"

Instead of getting out, Danny leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest, like he was planning to stay awhile. "So how long has _this_ been going on?"

"None of your business, Danny!"

Danny's smirk got wider. He didn't move away from the door. "You look good, Gibson. Been awhile, you know. Winchester… I could do with seeing less of that… but Gibson, you are looking _very_…"

"Don't make me get out of this bed," Dean threatened him. "I will punch you."

Danny laughed. "So... one question, Gibson."

"If I answer it, will you leave?"

"How's Winchester in the sack?"

Jayne grabbed the nearest article of clothing off the floor… which happened to be her boot… and chucked it at Danny's head.

Danny ducked, and the boot sailed over his head and into the hallway. "Whoa! I was just joking!"

"Get out!"

"Fine, fine… you two are no fun…"

Finally, Danny stepped back out into the hallway and closed the door behind him. "Dad and Deedee want to talk to you downstairs!" he called through the wood. "So… wrap this up fast, you know? Unless that's how it usually works…"

"I'm armed!" Dean hollered at him.

Danny's laughter echoed through the upstairs hall, and then Dean heard his footsteps as he retreated back downstairs.

Jayne groaned and flopped back against her pillow, covering her face with her hands. "Well," she mumbled into her palms. "I hope you weren't planning on keeping this whole thing quiet."

"Why?" Dean retorted grumpily. "Because the biggest mouth in the world just found about it?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

There was a long, awkward silence. Dean stared at her, but she kept her face hidden. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You know, we never really talked about it," he pointed out.

"About what?"

"Whether or not we were keeping this quiet."

Another long, awkward silence followed this comment. Dean shifted uncomfortably on the bed, waiting for Jayne to answer him – or at the very least, uncover her eyes. When she didn't make a move to do either, he shook his head in annoyance and sat up straight, reaching for his jeans.

Jayne lowered her hands and looked at him. He froze mid reach. "I don't know," she whispered. "I think… maybe he won't say anything."

He stared back at her, trying to judge how she felt about that. But her face was equally searching, like she was trying to judge how _he _felt, and that made reading her impossible.

"Well… I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he offered in a low, questioning voice.

Jayne stared at him for another moment, and then slowly nodded. "All right," she murmured awkwardly.

He stared at her too. It was a long, awkward, ridiculous eternity of staring. Finally, he gave her a short nod, and resumed his search for his clothes.

"It's not that I don't want them to know," she said suddenly. "I just… I don't think I know how to tell them."

He looked up at her in surprise, not expecting that honest admission. Jayne surprised him further by offering up more explanation. "It's just that… you and me… we don't talk about _this_. We've never talked about _this_. We've barely talked about it with each other."

Dean knew instinctively that _this_ did not mean the sex. _This_ was a blanket term, used to cover the entirety of their undefined relationship. "Does that… do you want to…?" he stuttered.

"Not exactly. I don't need to… maybe I just want this be _ours_, for a little while."

"Ours and Danny's."

Jayne snorted, a small smile twitching on her face. He grinned. "I really think he won't say anything," she said again. "He's a lot of talk, but… he gets it, when you need him to."

That made him uncomfortable, hearing how well Jayne knew Danny. He didn't like it; he didn't want Jayne to know the other man so well. There was no other woman in the world that Dean knew the way he knew Jayne… except maybe Cassie, and Cassie was no longer a part of his life. Cassie was a distant memory, and Danny was in their faces, right here and right now, and Dean suspected he was never going away.

Jayne didn't even know about Cassie.

"Let's go downstairs," he said out loud.

She nodded and reached for her clothes. "Ok."

They got dressed in silence. The mood was effectively ruined – at least, it was ruined for him. Dean didn't like the way Danny's intrusion had framed their little, undefined moments… hated the way Danny's presence called attention to all the things neither Dean nor Jayne were good at talking about.

There was an odd, hard-to-define feeling regarding Danny whirling around inside of him, and he wasn't sure what to call it. The feeling wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but at the same time it threw him. He wasn't used to the feeling at all.

Dean had a sinking suspicion that the feeling was jealousy.

* * *

><p>Sam was bored.<p>

He was also confused and a little bit hurt. Steve Juarez had shown up at the Pub, obviously with a case in hand, and had pointedly refused to share it with him. That wasn't surprising, really, and it wasn't the reason he was feeling slighted.

The reason he was out of sorts was because Lynn had let her brother drag her off somewhere to disclose that case in private.

Sam wasn't sure what the case was about, and he wasn't sure what had been said between Lynn and Steve. All he knew was that now he was sitting at a table in the very back of the bar, sandwiched between Rufus and Deedee, with Lynn and Steve sitting directly across from him, waiting for Danny, Jayne and Dean to show up. It was obviously a meeting of some sort, and Sam could guess by the looks Lynn kept sending him over the table that it was all about the yellow-eyed demon.

Deedee was looking smug, and Sam had a feeling that she was the reason this whole conference was happening. Dean was going to be pissed; that Sam knew for a fact. How Jayne felt about it all was anyone's guess.

Personally, Sam wanted it all out in the open. He had a feeling Lynn felt the same way.

Steve, on the other hand, looked sour and sore. His lips were pursed tightly, and his arms were folded over his chest. He slouched in his chair and glared at the tabletop.

"So, tall kid," Rufus suddenly spoke to Sam. Sam practically jumped out his chair.

"Daddy, don't call him that," Deedee admonished. "His name is Puppy Eyes."

Steve snorted, trying to muffle his hysterical laughter behind his hand. Sam glared at him, and then redirected his glare at Deedee. "It's Sam."

"I don't much care," Rufus drawled. Sam would have glared at him too, but the older man's gruff voice and stony expression made it difficult for Sam to even meet his eyes, let alone openly challenge him. "All I want to know is how you and your brother wound up hunting with our girls."

"Yeah, Sam," Steve spoke up suddenly, grinning in delight at Sam's discomfort. "I'd like to know that too."

"Everybody leave Sam alone," Lynn interrupted. "Steve, don't be a tool. Rufus, don't be a dad."

"Too late for that," the older man muttered.

"Look, Steve and I have decided to share the whole story with you guys," Lynn went on. "Sam's ok with that. Right, Sam?"

He met Lynn's eyes over the table. Her face was open, and he was surprised by how genuine he found the question. Sam nodded, forcing a small smile.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I really am."

"Makes one of us," Steve grumbled.

Lynn ignored her brother. "Jayne and Dean might be… less than ok with that. But we're still waiting for them to get over here before we have the big talk, all right? So, I reiterate; leave Sam alone."

Sam smiled gratefully at her. Lynn gave him a soft, almost secret smile back. Steve scoffed loudly. Rufus turned his hard eyes on Steve, and the kid's smirk vanished. He slouched lower in his chair, like he was trying to disappear. "I wouldn't get so smart if I were you," Rufus groused at him. "We could always talk about where the hell you've been."

Steve cleared his throat awkwardly and stared stonily at the table. "Sorry, sir."

Deedee snorted, and this time Sam could hear _her_ laughing hysterically behind her hands.

Suddenly, a huge, freckled young man with a bright red buzz cut dropped down in the chair next to Steve and slugged him in the arm. Sam couldn't help laughing at the annoyed grimace on the other psychic's face. "What's up, loser?" Danny Hannigan asked in his loud, booming voice.

"Jackass," Steve grumbled.

"Danny?" Lynn exclaimed. "When the hell did you get here?"

"Same time as Dad. Deedee sent me after Gibson and the other Winchester. What's up, Baby Winchester?"

Sam glared at the newcomer. Danny grinned back at him, like the clown that he was. "Is no one here going to call me by my _actual_ name?" Sam complained.

"Sorry, Puppy Eyes," Deedee drawled.

"Ooh," Danny chuckled. "I like that one."

"Are we going to have to talk about this again?" Lynn demanded. "I said, leave Sam alone."

"Where's Jayne anyway?" Steve asked.

"Other side of the bar," Danny returned, shrugging. "She and Winchester are coming now."

Sam looked over his shoulder hopefully, but Jayne and Dean were nowhere in sight. Sighing, Sam slouched down in his chair like Steve had been doing, resigning himself to his fate as the butt of everyone's jokes.

"So, tall kid," Rufus said again.

"Rufus," Lynn protested.

"Now, now, Lynn, I'm just talking to the boy," Rufus waved her off. "Tall kid. How'd you get into the business anyway?"

"He's John Winchester's son, Rufus," Lynn interrupted. "How do you think?"

"Yeah, I knew John," Rufus practically grunted. "He told me the youngest was going to Stanford or some hoity-toity school like that. What's he doing on the hunt now?"

"A demon killed my girlfriend," Sam spat.

Rufus blinked. Deedee gasped, turning huge, sympathetic eyes on him. Danny let loose a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "That's rough, buddy," Danny offered inadequately.

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his chair, while Lynn sighed heavily and buried her face in her hands. "Can we leave Sam alone _now_?" she asked.

And that was the end of that. The group sat in awkward silence until Jayne and Dean finally appeared and took the last two seats at the table.

"What's going on?" Dean demanded the moment he sat down.

Deedee fluttered her lashes at him. "And where have _you two_ been?" she asked oh-so-innocently.

Dean swung his head guiltily in her direction, and started backpedaling like hell. "Um… uh… we…"

"We were at the bar where you left us, you airhead," Jayne snapped, before taking over the conversation. "What are we doing here?"

"Hello to you two, Jaynie," Rufus drawled.

"S'up, big sis?" Steve added.

It was Jayne's turn to look a little guilty and embarrassed. "Right," she murmured. "Sorry. Hey, Rufus. Hi, Steve. How is everyone?"

"Just dandy," Steve retorted.

"We're fine," Rufus replied amicably.

"Good," Jayne nodded. "So… what are we doing here?"

Danny laughed out loud. "Business as usual, Gibson?"

"Shut up."

"Deedee locked Steve and me in the storeroom," Lynn announced. "With good reason, if we're all being honest. Which is kind of the point of this little… family meeting?"

Sam raised his eyebrow at her hesitant tone. He supposed family meeting _was_ the right term, but the look on Dean's face made him second-guess that analysis. "Family meeting?" his brother repeated sarcastically.

"Oh, don't worry, Tom," Deedee spoke up. "No one was counting you."

Dean glared at her. Sam hid a smirk with his hand. Lynn bit her lip and directed a hesitant, pleading look at her sister. "Deedee remembers," she murmured quietly, locking eyes with Jayne. "When Faye was… the stuff she said. Deedee remembers, and she's asking questions, and I think she deserves some answers. I think everyone deserves some answers."

Steve sank even lower in his chair, which Sam hadn't thought possible. He was more pissed off than Sam had ever seen him. Danny looked confused, and Rufus looked exactly the same as he had before. Sam would hate to go up against him in a poker match.

Jayne stared at her sister, keeping her face as blank and impassive as Rufus. Sam mentally added Jayne to the list of people he did not want to play poker with. His brother did not make that list, however. Dean drew his eyebrows together, obviously thunderstruck. "What are you doing?" he demanded, leaning towards Lynn.

Lynn swallowed, and drew herself up as tall as possible. "You guys keep asking why Jayne and I are still with the Winchesters. Well… the demon that killed Ana…"

"Killed Mary Winchester," Rufus interrupted, his tone low and dry and steady. Sam blinked at the older hunter in surprise. Dean gave him a hard, suspicious glare. Everyone else gaped at Rufus in shock.

"You knew?" Lynn asked, gob-smacked.

Rufus shrugged. Sam saw some sort of emotion flicker momentarily on his face. It looked like discomfort. "Sorry, boys," he said in a low, gruff, but surprisingly sincere voice. "But what happened to your Mama isn't exactly a secret."

Sam felt the floor drop out beneath him. The tavern spun a little, but Sam didn't let the sensation overcome him. He stared at the table a moment, gathering his bearings. Dean was looking angrier by the second. "What, is the story of my childhood published somewhere?" he snapped.

Somehow, Sam could not find his voice. He couldn't speak or move. Still, he felt the same anger and irritation that his brother displayed. It was a damn good question, after all. How the hell did everyone know about the demon?

"John was never a regular," Rufus grunted. "But he asked the big questions. At the start there, when he was desperate and itching for a showdown… he was reckless about where he shot off his mouth. I set him straight on that account."

Sam frowned, opening his mouth and failing to make words come out. His brother glared at the other hunter. "What the hell does that even mean?" Dean demanded.

"It means he came in here, asking questions, and I told him to shut up," Rufus retorted, an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before. It was an edge Sam hadn't thought him capable of. "You don't wander into a place like this and ask damn fool questions like he did. I made him see that."

Dean glowered harder, his fingers clenching on the tabletop. Rufus met his eyes, not wavering in the slightest. His voice lost the edge, and he was back to his stony, expressionless self. "I didn't hit him, if that's what you're on about. At least, not that time."

"You knew our Dad?" Sam finally managed to blurt out.

"You knew this whole time, about everything, and you never said a word?" Deedee demanded, throwing her own outrage into the mix. "What the hell, Daddy? How could you keep that from us?"

"Everybody shut up," Rufus returned. He didn't raise his voice, or even look the slightest bit bothered. Everyone shut up anyway. Rufus watched them all carefully, as though daring them to make another interruption. When he was sure of everyone's silence, he cleared his throat and started talking again. "I didn't know your dad – not well, at least," he answered Sam's question. "But he passed through now and again, and I knew about the demon. I knew what happened to your mother. He talked to Russ about it."

"Russ knew John?" Jayne demanded. She was starting to look pissed too.

"Not well," Rufus said again. "They didn't get along."

Sam snorted, having no trouble believing that. "So, what?" he asked bitterly. "They traded origin stories and went their separate ways?"

"Exactly that," Rufus replied evenly. "They had no reason to stay together. Neither of them knew a damn thing about what they were hunting – not then, at least."

He wrinkled his brow and gave each of them a hard glare – first Sam, then Dean, then Jayne, and then Lynn. "They had no reason to stay together," he repeated. "And neither do you. You know what happens when hunters pair up like this? They present bigger targets."

Something about that comment hit a sore spot deep inside Sam. It took the breath out of his lungs and the fight out of his shoulders. Sam slumped in his chair, gripping the edge of the table like he was trying to snap off the wood. For a moment, he was back to being speechless.

"We have plenty of reasons to stay together," Lynn retorted. "So you knew all along about how the Winchesters were connected to Dad's demon. I'll bet you don't know the rest."

Rufus looked mildly taken aback by Lynn's blunt reply. Danny still looked as confused as before, but Deedee leaned in with interest. "What that demon said," she murmured, her eyes lighting up. "About Steve…"

She trailed off, and her eyes wandered guiltily in Steve's direction. "She made it sound like you could… like you could do something," Deedee whispered, addressing him now. "Something… not quite natural."

That was putting it mildly. Steve stared at her without flinching, his arms still folded over his chest. For a long moment, the two of them held eye contact. Then he shrugged and looked away, and Sam saw Deedee's face fall, like his apathy had personally wounded her.

And maybe it had. Sam didn't know their history, after all. He also wasn't planning on asking.

Lynn took a deep breath, looking at her brother, and then at him. Sam nodded. Lynn looked at Jayne next, who fidgeted in her seat before offering a stiffer, less willing nod of her own.

Dean offered nothing, but Lynn didn't seem to care. The whole story started to spill out of her lips. Steve's disappearances being tied into the demon and its minions Faye and Randy. How when they found Steve again, they discovered he could start fires with his mind. Sam offered his own experiences with the nightmares that came true, and then started happening in the day, while he was awake. Dean got tenser and more on edge with every word Sam and Lynn spoke. Steve slouched lower and lower in his chair. Jayne didn't say much, but she didn't look too upset about the big reveal. He didn't think she particularly wanted the truth to come out, but he also didn't think she wanted to keep everything a secret either. Maybe she just needed someone else to do the talking.

Lynn did plenty of the talking. She told the Hannigans about Max Miller and Landon Creevey and Andy Gallagher and Webber. By the time she was finished, the three redheads were stunned into silence, gaping openly at the four hunters gathered at their table.

"I don't understand," Deedee whispered. "All this time, and you never said anything? Why did you think you couldn't tell us?"

Lynn cast her eyes hesitantly in Steve and Dean's direction. She opened her mouth, but Deedee had followed her eyes and guessed the answer before Lynn could say it. The implication made her look even more hurt than before. "Steve," she pressed, studying his slumping profile with hard eyes. "Why did you think you couldn't tell us?"

Sam watched Steve shut his eyes and tense up all over. "You don't get it," he managed to spit out behind clenched teeth.

"Well, help me get it," Deedee retorted.

"I'm not talking about this."

A long silence followed that comment. Rufus was watching everyone with calculating eyes, leaning idly back in his chair. Danny looked pissed off, and Sam jumped slightly as the oversized twenty-something clambered out of his chair and glowered down at the table.

"I _hunted_ with you," he spat. "_All_ of you. That hunt in West Virginia with Creevey… I was there. I could have hurt someone. Someone could have fucked with my head. I deserved to know what was going on. The whole damn time, Psychic Wonder over here was having visions about that creepy, mood-controlling psychopath, and not one of you assholes bothered to tell me what was going on. That's _bullshit!_"

Up until that final sentence, Danny had managed to keep a handle on his temper. Sam had actually been surprised at how calm and quiet he had been, even though his low tone was vibrating with rage. Now, he exploded.

"We're supposed to be family!" he shouted, knocking over his chair. "You kept _all_ of this from me! How the hell do you justify risking my ass like that?"

Jayne got up slowly, looking pained. "Danny, it was more complicated than that. I wanted to tell you. I thought about telling you, but…"

"But this jackass told you not to?" Danny asked furiously, slamming his hand into Dean's shoulder.

Dean leapt up on his feet. "Damn straight I did!"

"No, he didn't!" Jayne protested. "I mean… he never said that, exactly. It wasn't anything he said. I just couldn't… it wasn't my place to tell you Sam's secret."

Sam flinched at that. He would have expected that response from Lynn, but not Jayne. He swallowed hard, frowning up at her. Something about Jayne's willingness to protect his secret threw him. He wasn't sure what to do with it.

"Don't feed me that line of bull!" Danny thundered, stepping into her personal space. "You should have had told me! I was working that case with you! _I had a right to know!_"

Somehow, Sam knew Danny had stepped too close to Jayne even before his brother snapped. Dean shoved his way in between the two of them and got in Danny's face. "You need to back up," he growled, pushing Danny in the chest.

Danny made a move towards him, but stopped short when Jayne stepped forward, tugging Dean backwards by the arm. "Stop it," she snapped at Dean.

He glared at her, but she only glared back. Danny scoffed. "Don't bother now, Gibson. I see how it is. Your personal bodyguard over here is making it all very clear."

Dean redirected the glower at Danny. Jayne took a step towards the other man, her face twisted apologetically. Sam couldn't recall ever seeing her look so sorry or guilty. "Danny, I know you're pissed as all hell at me, but this isn't about…"

She never got to say what the scene wasn't about, because Danny interrupted her. "Don't bother," he said again. "I get it. I'm done here."

Sam heard him muttering about bullshit again, and then Danny marched off across the bar, disappearing into the crowd. Jayne watched him go, that sorry, guilty look still on her face, as Lynn slumped over in her chair and hid her face in her hands. Dean was staring at Jayne, and when she finally turned to look at him, something in her face was clearly not what Dean wanted to see. He turned away from her too, and stomped off towards the exit.

There was a long, awkward moment. Jayne stood rather helplessly by the table, looking first after Danny, and then after Dean, like she couldn't decide which one she wanted to go after. Steve didn't move, even though Deedee was staring at him in a way that Sam, had he been in Steve's shoes, couldn't have ignored.

Lynn slowly lowered her hands and looked at the remaining Hannigans. Deedee caught her eye, giving up on Steve, and then dropped her gaze, getting to her feet. "I hate to say this," she announced. "I mean, you really have no idea how much I _hate_ to say this, but I agree with Danny."

Steve was still studiously avoiding her eyes, but both Jayne and Lynn looked at Deedee guiltily. The tiny redhead shrugged, addressing the other two women and ignoring Steve. "It was wrong, letting him run around with that psychic and not telling him what was up. My brother could have gotten hurt, and I'm pissed off about that. I'm also pissed that it took you _this long_ to fess up about everything. Don't get me wrong; I'm glad you finally told us. Eventually, we're going to be ok. But right now… I think I need a moment to process, or I might end up screeching things at you that I'll regret."

With that, Deedee turned and walked off in the same direction as her brother. Sam shifted awkwardly in his seat, wishing he wasn't so involved in something that really wasn't his problem. Rufus got to his feet too, and Sam didn't miss the way Jayne's guilty eyes swung to him next or the pleading, hopeful expression that spread across Lynn's face. He didn't even miss how Steve flinched at the scrape of Rufus's chair legs.

The large, redheaded, middle-aged man put a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder. Steve looked up hesitantly at the other hunter, and Rufus's moustache twitched like he was trying to smile. "It don't matter," Rufus murmured in a low, awkward voice. "You know that. Any kind of magic trick you can pull… you're still Steve to me. Nothing changes that."

Visible relief passed over Steve's face. He nodded once, patting the massive hand clutching his shoulder. Rufus gave him one last comforting squeeze, and then let go, moving on to Lynn and Jayne. "I can't say I'm not disappointed," he rumbled. "I won't. We would have understood. We'll always be here, willing to help."

Jayne looked at the floor. Lynn got out of her chair. "We know," Lynn insisted. "Of course we know that. We should have said something sooner, it's just that…"

Rufus cut her off simply by raising his hand. Lynn's explanations died in her throat. "I understand," he said evenly. "I'm disappointed, but I understand."

Lynn swallowed noticeably, still staring at Rufus. Jayne looked up from the floor. "Come back when you can," Rufus murmured.

Then he walked away, and Sam felt like he could breathe again. He knew he shouldn't feel so relieved when he looked at the other three and saw how torn up about everything they were. But as much as Sam wanted allies and friendship and to just freaking talk about this whole mess already, he hadn't been prepared for the anger and hurt and betrayal. Witnessing the blowup made him feel like an intruder on a private family scene.

Steve cleared his throat and got to his feet, holding out the folder he'd been carrying around. "We should leave," he announced. "If we go now, we'll hit Brooklyn by morning."

Sam stood up too, turning his eyes on Steve. "Brooklyn?" he repeated interestedly. "What's in Brooklyn?"

"A hunt," Steve returned shortly, before leading the way to the door. "Let's go!"

Sam looked at Lynn questioningly as the three of them followed Steve outside. Jayne raised an eyebrow knowingly at her sister, and Lynn nodded at Jayne's unspoken question. Tightness developed around Jayne's jaw, and she brushed her knuckles against Lynn's shoulder. Then she jogged after her brother and snatched the folder out of his hand.

Sam walked slowly alongside Lynn, shoving his hands awkwardly in his coat pockets. "So… Brooklyn," he offered.

Lynn nodded. "Yep."

"Is it... uh… is it about…?"

"My mom?" Lynn interrupted. "Yeah, I think it is."

They were quiet for a moment. "The apartment's for rent again," Lynn elaborated, her explanation sudden. "The last tenant died."

Sam knitted his eyebrows together. "How?"

Lynn's face got stony and tight, and for a moment he could have confused her with her sister. "She jumped out the fourth story window."

He didn't have an answer for that. "Oh," he said. It was completely inadequate.

They didn't speak again. Sam followed the three siblings out into the dirt road, where Dean was waiting by the car. Jayne walked up to him, presumably to tell him about the plan. Dean barely acknowledged her, and climbed into the driver's seat of the Impala as quickly as possible. Jayne stood by the car a moment, staring at the door with an unreadable expression, before turning on her heel and stalking towards her truck.

Lynn nodded a goodbye at him and followed Jayne. Steve was already behind the wheel of his car, and took off down the road with his engine roaring. Sam slid into the passenger seat and glanced at Dean.

"What?" Dean snapped.

Sam looked away. "Nothing."

They followed Jayne's truck up the dirt road in silence.

* * *

><p>Inez Rodriguez's old apartment building looked exactly like Lynn remembered it. After battling heavy Brooklyn traffic to reach the place, she was again thrown by the stark contrast between the rundown, deserted street and the rest of the bustling borough. She could hear the traffic from the rest of the city, and see the bridge in the distance, but the street they had parked Dean's car on was quiet and abandoned.<p>

She stood on the sidewalk outside the crumbling brick building, squinting at the dirty windows on the fourth story. All the windows were dirty, but it was the fourth story windows that drew her attention. If she stared long enough, she could picture young women climbing onto the sill and staring back down at her, before taking those final, lethal steps.

Lynn dropped her eyes and shook her head. Jayne appeared on her right side, squinting up at the fourth story too. She nudged her in the arm with her elbow.

"Sure about this?" she asked.

"Yeah," Lynn said quietly. "I'm sure."

And she was. At least, she thought she was. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe she didn't know.

She walked up to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. She knocked loudly and waited, the other four hunters crowding in behind her. Lynn fidgeted. It felt like they were all standing on her heels and breathing down her neck.

The door swung open, and Lynn immediately recognized the stooped over, elderly Mr. Chen, who squinted at the group through his thick glasses. "You!" he wheezed, pointing his finger at them accusingly. "I remember you! I tell you, it's a single bedroom! I not rent the place to groups!"

Lynn closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Right, we remember," she replied as civilly as she could. "Mr. Chen, if _you_ remember, the last time we came here it wasn't to rent the apartment. I came looking for information about my mother…"

"Yes, and you find nothing!" Mr. Chen pointed out triumphantly. "What do you think you gonna find now? More nothing!"

Lynn winced slightly, forcing a smile. Apparently, she'd used up all her sympathy points with Mr. Chen the last time they were there. "We heard there was another suicide in that apartment," she said carefully. "I just thought…"

"Possible tenants only!" Mr. Chen interrupted. "You not see the place today."

Lynn swallowed, not sure what to do. She wanted to get all righteous and in his face, and start demanding to be let inside. Her usual snappiness failed her, and she wasn't sure why.

Her brother stepped up beside her and flashed a badge at the landlord. "Sorry, sir. NYPD. We need to investigate the apartment in question due to the recent suicide, in order to determine if it's in any way connected to the suicide of this young woman's mother."

Lynn shot her brother a sidelong, grateful look. Mr. Chen scrutinized Steve suspiciously. "Since when does police bring civilians along on investigation?"

Steve smirked, and elbowed Lynn. She frowned at him, and he gave her a sidelong look of his own. His meaning became clear, and she quickly reached into her coat and pulled out a badge of her own.

Lynn flashed the badge at Mr. Chen. "Sorry?" she offered weakly.

Mr. Chen's eyes roved over Lynn, and then Jayne, Sam and Dean, looking every bit as suspicious as before. "So many cops for such a little investigation," he clucked, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Dean intervened, stepping up on her left. He flashed the landlord his own badge, complete with a smug, baiting smirk. "Procedure. Open up."

Mr. Chen clucked his tongue again, but stepped back from the door and let them all inside. Lynn stepped over the threshold behind her brother, the two of them leading the group single file in the dark, musty, narrow hall. Mr. Chen ambled towards the creaky stairwell at the end of the hall. "Don't see the big deal," he was muttering as he went. "Girl kill herself. Sometimes people do that. Sad, but true. Cops always make a big deal out of little things."

He reached the stairs and stepped into a recess of the wall, letting them pass. "You know the way up," he groused. Then he shuffled off in the opposite direction.

Dean shrugged and pushed past her, leading the way upstairs. Lynn looked at the others hesitantly. Steve rolled his eyes and followed Dean, while Sam offered her a sympathetic, almost cringing smile.

Jayne grabbed her arm and dragged her up the steps. Lynn breathed a sigh of relief. That's what she'd needed, really. Someone to give her a push.

They made it to the fourth floor, and all the way to her mother's apartment. Lynn followed Dean and Steve inside, still attached to her sister by the arm. She braced herself for the musty smell and the thick coating of dust that she'd faced the last time they'd visited.

She was shocked when she finally entered the apartment. It looked almost nothing like the place she remembered. The few small rooms were clean and organized. The walls were reaping the benefit of a fresh coat of sky blue paint. The last tenant's possessions were still scattered around the place, making the apartment seem like someone still lived there. All cleaned up and full of little homey items, the apartment actually looked like a decent place to live.

Her sister let out a low whistle. "Dust trap cleans up nice," Jayne muttered.

Lynn glared at her. "Whatever," she replied, jerking her arm free and making her way further into the apartment. Jayne didn't seem the least bit bothered.

Steve had whipped out his EMF and was ambling around the apartment's perimeter, scanning for hotspots. "We tried that last time," Dean offered gruffly. "The transformer outside kept screwing with the readings."

Steve grunted and shot Dean a dark look out the corner of his eye. Dean shrugged and rolled his eyes, walking away. Steve kept scanning things with the EMF reader like Dean had never spoken.

Lynn watched the two of them for a brief but painful moment, before closing her eyes, shaking her head, and heading into the single bedroom.

This room also surprised her. Just like in the main room, the late tenant had painted the walls sky blue. There were lacy white curtains over the tall, single window. The bed was fitted up with blue and purple bedclothes and a lacy white dust ruffle to match the curtains.

Something about the room felt clean and cool and light. It didn't feel anything like the apartment had last time. The change made her feel like an idiot. Why the hell was she even here?

Mr. Chen's words started playing over in her head again. It wasn't like he was wrong. Sometimes, people killed themselves. It was sad, but it was true, and she didn't have to investigate every leap out of a fourth story window.

"Well, I'm not getting anything on the EMF," she heard her brother grunt on the other side of the door. Lynn turned towards his voice, but he wasn't talking to her. The wall hid him from her view.

"We told you it wouldn't," Jayne returned carelessly, also hidden behind the bedroom wall.

"You didn't tell me. Jackass did."

"Is this going to be a thing with you? Is it going to last the whole hunt? Because if it is, tell me now. I want to bail before fists start flying."

"Thought you liked throwing around fists."

"You're not going to like it if I start."

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Lynn stood in the stillness of the bedroom, her tan, dusty boots looking very wrong on top of the woven white rug.

"I'm with Deedee," Steve said suddenly. "Why are you still with these losers?"

"Well, maybe I'm with Deedee too. Why do you always think you can't tell us things?"

Steve chuckled under his breath, sounding bitter. "Always come back to this bullshit. We aren't talking about me right now."

"I'm not talking at all."

She heard her sister walk away. Lynn closed her eyes and turned away from the door, heading for the closet. The door was slightly ajar, and there was a collection of handbags hanging on a hook on the door.

The floorboards creaked behind her. Lynn turned and found her brother poking his head cautiously into the room. "What you got?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Nothing."

"Same."

There was a long awkward silence. "I think everyone's going to look around the building some more," Steve offered, running his hand over his head.

Lynn nodded. "Ok."

They lapsed into awkward silence again. Lynn turned away from him and finished the walk to the closet.

"Are you two going to fight the whole time?" she asked quietly, pulling open the door. She frowned at the closet interior. There was nothing inside but clothes and shoes.

Steve sighed harshly as she shut the door. "You heard all that, huh?"

She folded her arms and glared at the floor. "Yeah. Definitely did."

"Sorry."

Lynn didn't answer. She glared at the floor some more. It was hard wood, and there was another woven rug in front of the closet door. Actually, there were several rugs strewn all over the bedroom floor. There was a large, round one in the very center, and smaller ones along the perimeter, on the walls where the furniture was sparse. Now that she'd stopped to take a look at it, the setup of the rugs was rather strange.

Steve was watching her still, and a frown spread across his face as he took in her confusion. "What?" he asked slowly, like he was afraid of the answer.

She ignored him and turned back to the rug in front of the closet. Knocking it aside with her boot, she discovered faint scratch marks on the hardwood. Lynn knelt, tracing her fingers on the scratches. It was a diamond of sorts, its lines extending beyond the general diamond shape. One of the lines came out of the bottom point of the diamond and stretched out towards the center of the room.

Lynn stood up and followed the line with her eyes. It vanished under the large round rug in the center.

"Lynn?" her brother asked. "You want to share with the class?"

"Help me move the bed," she ordered.

Steve huffed incredulously, but fell silent when she glared at him in return. He complied with her command, and the two of them moved the bed far enough to the left so that she could lift the rug. Already, she could see a second line scratched faintly into the wood where the bed had been, pointing at the middle of the room.

She grabbed the corner of the rug and tossed it aside. Scratched into the floor was a large, circular pattern, almost like the outline of a doily. There were four straight lines, one coming at the circle from each wall, intersecting one another at the center of the circle. Another set of perpendicular, intersecting lines, was etched inside the circle. Little lines were sticking out the ends of the shorter perpendicular set, like crooked little feet. Along the edge of the circle, large dots had been carved into the floorboards.

Lynn stared at the design with wide eyes. It looked old, and someone had obviously tried to buff the circle out of the floor. Why hadn't she seen it the last time? She wracked her brain, trying to remember what had been in the room the first time she'd come to Brooklyn.

Carpet. The bedroom had been fully carpeted.

Steve let out a low whistle. "What the hell is that?" he asked.

Lynn shook her head. "I don't know."

She ducked into the main room, intent on dragging the other three into the bedroom to take a look. But Jayne, Sam and Dean had already left the apartment to check out the rest of the building. Lynn deflated, sighing as she stood in the middle of the room, alone.

Steve crept in behind her, the floorboards creaking under him. "Want me to go get them?" he asked.

She nodded. "Um, yeah. Maybe you should."

He nodded back, and headed for the door. Lynn's eyes fell on the large window – the one her mother fell from. The window from which the last tenant had jumped.

She crossed to it slowly. Something about the window bothered her. It was like every time she looked at it, she could see someone falling to her death. That someone was always a petite young woman with wavy black hair.

Lynn stopped at the window and took in the view for the first time. She had steered clear of the window the last time they'd been in Brooklyn, and now she forced herself to come all the way to the sill and rest her fingertips on the panes.

She would have never noticed it from the street. In fact, she wasn't certain she'd have noticed it at all, if the image etched into the bedroom floor wasn't still engraved on her brain. But she could see it now. The building was close to the corner, where the mostly abandoned, desolate street intersected with yet another rundown, traffic-less road, all in the shadow of the nearby bridge.

Her mother's apartment had an excellent view of a crossroads.


	13. Roots

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

**Disclaimer No. 2: I do not practice any variant of voodoo or hoodoo, and gleaned what little I know from questionable internet sources and an old college textbook. Some details I've undoubtedly gotten wrong and other details I've chosen to get wrong. While the voodoo-related portions of this fic are rooted in what I believe to be fact (or perceived fact) I have taken many liberties, and assure you that overall, my interpretations of both the spell-work and the legends are first and foremost fictional, and most often inaccurate.**

AN: Big thank yous to Spelllesswonder29, ColtFan165, WinchesterSalvatoreLover, Guest, AshlynPaige92, SPN Mum, angeleyenc, chabitso.0, Guest, Swallowing Dante, Love this story, When I Make It Shine, Joann, Guest, Guest, Anon and Rossingol for all the awesome reviews!

And a shout-out to WinchesterSalvatoreLover for making an awesome banner for this fic! Thank you; I love it.

So… apologies are in order. I took too long to update… _again_. This is seriously one unflattering lame-o pattern I've got going on here. Work sucks, life's hard, my muse is on VK… is that even how you spell that? Anyway… no excuses. I suck, I'm sorry, and please enjoy this chapter!

* * *

><p>Chapter 13: Roots<p>

Although the inside of Inez Rodriguez's old apartment had been cleaned up, painted, and turned into a homey little place to live, not much had been done to the rest of Mr. Chen's building. Jayne crinkled her nose as she lagged behind the Winchester boys, ambling their way down the fourth floor hallway. It was dusty and rundown. The floorboards creaked, and the walls were grimy. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and there was enough dirt on the windows to keep out most of the day's bright sunlight.

Dean was in the lead and she could hear him grumbling under his breath. She couldn't quite make out the words, but honestly, she wasn't really trying. Sam was poking around just behind him, frowning along the floor and up the walls, like he couldn't decide what he was looking for.

Join the club, Sam.

Even though Dean had made a point of knocking Steve's EMF reader back in the apartment, he'd whipped out his own and was scanning the hallway. Sam kept running his fingers over banisters and chair-rails, sniffing at the dust that stuck to his fingertips.

She heard the door creak from down the hallway and turned to see who was coming out of the newly abandoned apartment. Her brother appeared at the end of the hall, and Jayne stiffened slightly, pressing her lips together in a tight, firm line.

Steve jogged over to the three of them. "We found something," he announced, slowing to a stop directly before her. Jayne narrowed her eyes and gave him a short nod.

"What?" Dean spat at him, coming up behind her. She tensed up, folding her arms tightly over her torso.

Steve widened his eyes in mock confusion. "I don't know," he retorted, shrugging exaggeratedly. "Why don't you come and see?"

Then he rolled his eyes and turned away, stomping back inside the apartment.

Slowly, Jayne shut her eyes, exasperated, and tried to fight the tiny, amused smirk that was forming on her face. Dean started grumbling under his breath and marched after her brother.

Jayne glanced at Sam. The younger Winchester shrugged at her and crinkled his nose sheepishly. "I guess we should go see," he offered.

She nodded. "Yeah. Guess we should."

Sam sighed and shook his head. Then he squared his shoulders and headed on down the hall. Jayne followed Sam back into the apartment, where he promptly jogged after Dean and Steve into the single bedroom. Jayne didn't go after them. She could see Lynn standing on the other side of the small, sky blue living room, in front of the large window. Her fingertips were on the glass, and she was staring down at the street below.

Squinting against the sunlight, Jayne crossed to her sister's side, and took a look. The glass was clean on their side, but outside the window was smudged with just as much dirt as every other window in the building. "Huh," Jayne said. "That's one dirty window."

Lynn didn't crack a smile. In fact, she barely reacted at all, and Jayne almost wondered if she'd even heard her. "Did you look in the bedroom?" Lynn asked hoarsely.

Jayne looked at her, but Lynn refused to look back. She shrugged, and returned her gaze to the window. "Not yet. What are you doing? Counting pigeons?"

Lynn swallowed. "Not exactly. See that?"

She jerked her chin at the intersection. Jayne followed her eyes, taking in the strangely quiet and empty streets that crossed one another two doors away from them. In the distance, she could see the bridge looming over them, blocking out the sky.

"What about it?" she asked.

"It's a crossroads, Jayne."

Jayne took another look. She supposed that yes; if they were being literal the tiny, deserted intersection was indeed a crossroads. Still, she snorted. "That? There? It's barely a street corner."

"Doesn't matter," Lynn replied, her voice still low and raspy. "One road crossing another. That meets the definition."

"There are intersections everywhere," Jayne countered. "At the end of every block, in every city in the whole world. Let's not be crazy."

Lynn swallowed again, and ducked her head. "You should look in the bedroom," she insisted.

Jayne took another good, long look at her sister. Lynn was still staring out the window with her head bowed, and her fingers resting on the glass. She was somber; far more somber than Jayne had seen her recently. If anything, this quiet and depressed demeanor of her sister's made Jayne want to do anything _but_ look inside the bedroom.

"Sure," she said out loud. "I'll go take a look."

Then she turned away from Lynn and marched straight through the bedroom door like the situation did _not_ freak her out, not one little bit.

Sam, Dean and Steve were gathered just inside the door, studying the hardwood floor. Jayne joined them, pushing past her little brother to get a good look. She stopped short. There, expanding across the floor boards was a faded carving that looked like some sort of ritualistic symbol. Jayne frowned down at the huge circle and the perpendicular lines in the hardwood, tilting her head inquisitively to the side.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be standing here with you, staring at it like a dumbass," Steve retorted.

Dean glowered at him. Steve smirked. Jayne rolled her eyes.

"I think it's a veve," Sam announced, wrinkling his brow with interest as he stared at the circle. He took a few steps around the perimeter, studying the shape, and then knelt down to get a closer look.

Jayne raised her eyebrow skeptically. "A what now?" she asked.

"A veve," Sam repeated. "They're symbols… kind of like a personal emblem. You find them in most forms of voodoo. Each one represents a different loa, and can be used to communicate with them."

"What's a loa?" Jayne demanded.

"Kind of like… a demi-god. Except not really."

She blinked. "Thanks for that."

"Why do you know all this?" Dean asked incredulously.

Sam shrugged, irritated. "I read."

Steve scrunched up his nose, one of his patented shit-eating smirks twitching across his face. "You don't meet many ladies, do you Sam?"

Sam glared at him. Dean snorted, but then tried to turn it into a cough, unwilling to admit he found anything her brother said funny. Jayne rolled her eyes – again – and took a step closer to the carving on the floor.

"So what does it mean?" she asked.

Sam's glare faded into a confused, thoughtful look as he returned his eyes to the symbol – or veve, or whatever the hell it was. "I don't know," he admitted.

Jayne stared at the side of his face for a moment, and then slowly exhaled, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. She glowered back down at the veve. Of course he didn't know. Why would he?

"Are you guys about done now?"

All four of them whirled around at the sound of Lynn's voice from the doorway. For some reason, Jayne felt guilty as she met her sister's dark eyes from the other end of the room. Lynn had her arms folded tightly over her chest – almost defensively, really. She looked irritable and a little bit lost, standing hunched over on the threshold.

Sam smiled at her, shrugging his shoulders. "Yeah," he said a little too quickly, a little too agreeably. "I took some pictures with my phone. I think we've got all we need."

"Great," Lynn muttered sarcastically. "Let's go already."

She turned her back on all of them and disappeared out into the main room. A few seconds later, Jayne heard the creak of the front door opening, followed by a thud as it shut again.

Steve whistled. "She is not handling this well."

"How should she handle it?" Dean retorted.

Jayne glanced at Dean, but he wouldn't look at her. She turned her eyes on Steve, who was glaring at Dean.

"Fuck you," he snapped. "What do you know about it? What do you know about her – about us? You're just here because my sisters have something you want – some possible connection to the thing you want to kill. You don't care about them, so don't act like you do."

"Shut your mouth," Dean returned, his voice low and hard. He took a threatening step forward. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"I think I do," Steve spat. "I think I've got a pretty _damn_ good idea about what's going on here. I think you and your brother should get the hell out. This isn't your business; this is _our_ family, and you two aren't going to do anything here but fuck things up. Fuck off."

Jayne blinked, her mouth falling open. She tried to say something in reply, but Steve had already turned his back on them and was marching out the door. She heard him leave the apartment, slamming the door behind him violently. Her mouth shut, and then opened, and shut again. She shook her head, and then looked at Sam and Dean.

Dean glared at her. She looked away from him, focusing on Sam. "I… I…"

She didn't know what to say. Sam gave her a quick, reassuring smile. "It's ok," he insisted. "Really. He's just worried about you two. It's understandable; we get it. Don't apologize, seriously."

Jayne raised her eyebrow. "He told you to fuck off."

Sam swallowed, ducked his head, and forced another smile. "Yeah. I, uh… caught that."

She stared at him, wordlessly. Dean said nothing, and made no move to leave. Sam shuffled uncomfortably, and then started backing towards the door. Jayne followed him with her eyes. "We should go," Sam said, stepping backwards through the doorway. "Uh… we need to look this thing up."

Jayne nodded. Sam nodded back, forced another smile for her, and then he too headed for the exit.

Dean waited until the door shut behind his brother before giving her a hard look. "You better find a way to shut your brother up," he told her. "Because I am _this_ close to punching him in the face."

Jayne narrowed her eyes at him. "You storm off back at the Pub," she retorted. "You give me the brush off by the car. You don't speak to me _once_ when we hit Brooklyn. The first words you have for me are about hitting my brother? Maybe I ought to punch you."

Dean stared at her. She glared back. Then he shrugged, smirked, and brushed past her. She stepped in front of him, blocking his escape.

"What?" he snapped at her. "Huh? You want me to say I'm sorry? Is that it? Fine. Sorry."

"Well, that's a start," she retorted. "Except I'd like you to say it again, this time with feeling."

Dean didn't say it again. He just stood there in silence, glaring at her. Jayne threw up her hands in exasperation, shaking her head. "I don't know what I did," she said helplessly. "Obviously you're pissed about something, and you're taking it out on me, but goddamn it, Dean, I have no fucking idea what I did. What is your problem?"

He didn't have an answer at first. Jayne watched him mull it over, trying to keep glaring at her as he did so. She huffed in annoyance, screwing up her face in an incredulous glower. Dean reacted to that, finally exploding. "Your sister just up and told the Hannigans everything!" he snapped.

Jayne tilted her head to the side, unimpressed. "Yeah, well, _your_ brother just up and told the _Harvelles_ everything _too_, so… guess we're square."

Dean faltered. "Is it going to be like this every time?" Jayne demanded. "Every time we hit the sheets, are things going to get weird? Is there always going to be some big issue we need to sort out? Because if we're going to fight every time we have sex, well… then we're going to have to stop having sex."

He looked down at the floor. Jayne watched him, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Dean didn't say anything. She shook her head. "Look, if this is really about telling the Hannigans… it wasn't my idea. I kept your brother's secret. Hell, Sam wanted to come clean! He wanted it out in the open, and now it is. This isn't my fault. And quite frankly? I don't really care if you're pissed. Sam told the Harvelles about everything, including Steve, and we barely knew them from Adam. Rufus, Deedee, and Danny are _family_, and…"

"Danny is not your family!" Dean snapped, surprising her. "He's your ex-boyfriend!"

She blinked. "I… that's not important. That… that doesn't change anything," she stuttered. It was hard to admit, but Dean had caught her off guard. "So what? I grew up with Danny! I've known him since I was small! It's different!"

Dean snorted, unimpressed. "All I know is that you used to sleep with the guy. And I think it's a little weird that you're still so close to him. Ok? Come on, Goldilocks. Even you've got to admit that's not normal."

"Nothing about any part of our lives is normal!" Jayne thundered. "Danny's part of the family, and… wait."

Slowly, it started to sink in. The incredulous glower faded from her face as she began to understand what was wrong with Dean. Judging by the sudden panic that flashed across his face, Dean could tell she'd figured it out too.

"Are you jealous of Danny?" she asked.

He scoffed. "No."

She raised her eyebrow and waited.

"I'm not!" he insisted. "What could Danny Hannigan _possibly_ have that I would be jealous of? That's… I'm not jealous!"

With her eyebrow still raised, Jayne kept on waiting.

"What is that look?" he snapped.

"You _are_ jealous," she said definitively.

"No, I'm not!" he protested quickly – too quickly. "I just… I think it's weird, all right? It's just… weird. I mean, you don't see me going to visit any of my exes…"

"Your exes are scattered from coast to coast, and you remember most of them by bar names," Jayne retorted.

"Hey!" Dean snapped. "Don't act like you've been traveling from one end of the country to the other without racking up any one-nighters. I call bullshit on that! And anyway… maybe I _have_ had a few real relationships. One, actually, but still… it's not like we're still in touch."

The idea of Dean having an ex-girlfriend – a _real_ ex-girlfriend that he'd been with for longer than forty-eight hours and whose last name he might even know – was surprisingly uncomfortable for her. Jayne swallowed that discomfort down, and tried to focus on his problem with Danny. Danny was the real issue.

"Look… I can see how this might be… weird," she admitted."But if you're uncomfortable with Danny… well that's too damn bad, Dean. I'm sorry, but… he's not going anywhere. He might have blown up back at the Pub, but… we're still friends. The Hannigans are family, and he's a part of that. If you can't deal with that… I don't know, Dean. I just… need you to deal with that."

He blinked. He swallowed. "Ok," he murmured, but he didn't look ok at all.

Jayne took a deep breath. "Anyway, you know… being jealous of Danny… that's stupid, Dean. Really. It's stupid."

"Stupid," he echoed dangerously.

"I just mean… that's over. I want… I want _this_."

She kept calling it _this_. He knew what she meant, though. She could tell by the way his face softened, and his shoulders slumped. They stared at one another for a moment, silent, unsure where to go after that. Before either of them could make a move, an earsplitting shriek echoed through the apartment building.

Jayne whirled around at the sound, rushing instinctively towards the door, Dean on her heels. Once they hit the hallway, they both froze. The corridor was deserted, and Jayne had no idea where the scream had come from.

There was only one other door on the fourth floor. Jayne's eyes fell on it as Dean marched past her and roughly on the door in question. "Hello?" he called. "Someone in there?"

Jayne frowned, taking a few steps forward and drawing her gun from the waistband of her jeans. Dean knocked even louder on the door. "Open up! It's… uh… the police!"

She raised her eyebrow at that. Dean shrugged sheepishly. Gun at the ready, she nodded towards the door. Dean nodded in agreement, taking a step backwards. Then he kicked the door in.

The door swung open, the wood around the lock splintering where Dean's boot had made contact. Dean rushed in first, his fingers scrambling for the gun tucked into his jeans. Jayne made long, purposeful strides after him, aiming her gun cautiously in front of her. The apartment was like a dim, depressing mirror of Inez's old place across the hall. The main room was painted muted gray, and there was a large window overlooking the building's backyard. No one was inside, but the large window was hanging wide open. A cool breeze whipped through the room, blowing Jayne's hair back from her face, as the window blew back and forth in the sudden gust of wind.

Dean was checking rooms, his gun at the ready, but Jayne knew instinctively they wouldn't find anything – not inside. She swallowed a lump in her throat, her stomach turning and goose bumps popping up on her arms. Jayne lowered her gun and slowly crossed to the window.

She couldn't stop the gasp. Lying on the ground below them was the broken, tiny body of a black-haired woman. People were starting to circle around her, calling out words she couldn't quite understand, while a few of them pulled out cell phones, presumably to call 9-1-1.

"What is it?" Dean demanded gruffly, appearing suddenly at her side. She didn't have to answer; he saw the body for himself. A low whistle escaped his lips, and he shook his head. "Damn it," he muttered, looking away and tucking his gun back into his waistband.

It could have been a coincidence, or hell, even a copycat, but Jayne didn't buy it. One thing was for certain; there was definitely something to find this time around in Brooklyn.

* * *

><p>The scream was still echoing in Lynn's ears as she stood on the perimeter of the gawking crowd, staring at the EMS and policemen milling around the scene. People's heads blocked her view of the body on the street. She stood in the shadow of the building, leaning against the brick wall with her arms folded over her chest. Her brother and Sam were both in the crowd around the body, out in the sunlight, talking to the cops. Lynn had opted to hang back… for reasons she wasn't keen to analyze.<p>

Footsteps to her right startled her out of her funk. Lynn shifted her eyes moodily from the scene as Jayne appeared at her shoulder, startling her again. Seconds later, Dean appeared from behind Jayne. He marched right by them, headed for Sam and Steve, but Jayne stopped and frowned at her, nudging her in the arm.

"You all right?" she grunted.

Lynn shrugged. "Yeah, fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

She wasn't convincing anyone with that tone, not even herself. Jayne raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that pretending nothing's wrong and hiding how you feel bull? That's my bag. And you are _crap_ at it. Ready to talk about it yet?"

Lynn gave in about halfway, slumping harder against the brick wall. She sighed heavily, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "I don't know how I feel," she said. "I don't know how to think. I don't know what to do."

Jayne stared at her for a moment. Slowly, she nodded. "Well," she murmured, leaning beside her on the wall. "That's something."

They lapsed into silence. Lynn couldn't talk about this with Jayne – or anyone, really. She wanted to, but her thoughts were all muddled, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't get them to line up straight. It was almost a relief when Sam, Dean and Steve returned from talking to the cops.

"Her name was Kara Mills," Sam announced. "She's been living in that apartment for about six months. No family, not a lot of friends, employed at a local bar."

"Cops think she jumped," Steve added.

Lynn felt everyone's eyes on her. She swallowed, flipped her hair, and pushed herself off the wall. "Ok, so now what?" she asked.

Steve exchanged a look with Jayne, and it took a lot of energy not to snap at both of them. "I'm going to check out this Kara chick," Steve announced. "See if she's connected to the last suicide in anyway. Jayne? Want to look into the symbol on the floor of the apartment?"

Jayne crinkled her nose. "Sounds more like Sam's territory."

Her brother scoffed. "Whatever. Lynn?"

"I'll come with you," she said quietly. "We can look into the women together."

Steve nodded. "Sounds good. Jayne?"

"If Sam's cool with checking out the symbol…?" she glanced at Sam for confirmation, who nodded. "I'll check out Kara's apartment. See if she's got any weird ass symbols carved into her floorboards."

"I'll help," Dean volunteered.

Steve nodded again. "Ok. Sounds like a plan. Lynn?"

She followed him around the front of the building, waving at the other three. Her brother barely acknowledged them, except for another short nod in Jayne's direction. Then he practically ran back to the meter where he'd left his Superbird. Lynn jogged after him, slightly agitated. The bright orange muscle car was sitting across the street and a few spaces up the road from her mother's old apartment building.

"I don't trust the Bird by herself out here," Steve grumbled once they reached the car. He ran a hand over the smooth, shiny finish. "Someone's going to key her; I know it."

Lynn shrugged, unsympathetic. "Drive a less ridiculous car."

"Never!"

She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Her brother grinned back, and Lynn climbed into the passenger seat. Steve clambered in and started the car, smirking wider at the sound of his engine purring.

"She does go pretty fast," Lynn allowed. "I do like that."

"You like the whole she-bang," Steve retorted. "You just won't admit it."

He shifted gears and pulled out of the space, rocketing off down the road. Lynn rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest again. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Drugstore where the woman who lived in your mother's place used to work," Steve grunted.

"Her name was Sophie Delgato," Lynn informed him tersely.

Steve flinched slightly, but managed not to snap back at her. "Right. Sophie. We'll ask some questions; see if anyone there knew Kara Mills, or if Sophie knew her. Then we'll poke around where Kara worked, see if we can't find any hangouts or friends the two of them have in common. Sound like a plan?"

Lynn nodded, slouching lower in the black leather seat. "Sure."

They lapsed into silence. Steve switched on the radio, fiddling with the dial in an attempt to find a decent station. He stopped when loud mainstream rap started shaking the frame of the car. Lynn rolled her eyes, tilting her head back and glaring at the ceiling.

"So… you want to talk about it?" Steve asked.

His tone wasn't exactly encouraging. He was almost cringing as he asked her, as though he was afraid she'd say yes and then they'd actually have to talk about it. Lynn supposed that was the reason her brother was a hunter who preferred working alone as opposed to a therapist.

"I'm fine, Steve," she told him, examining her nails.

"You sure?" he pressed. "Because I don't think you are. And we can either have this conversation now, or later. Because let's face it; the conversation's _going_ to happen."

"Is that some kind of dig?" she asked frostily.

"No," Steve returned patiently, although she caught him rolling his eyes. "I'm just saying. Something's wrong, you're upset… with good reason, let's be real here. Eventually we have to talk about this."

Any reply she might have made was cut off when Steve slammed on the brakes to avoid an erratically driven taxi. "Damn it," he snapped, giving the guy the finger. "Fucking hate New York."

Lynn managed a small smile at that and then pressed herself into the corner, tightening her arms over her torso as she leaned against the passenger door. Steve glanced at her, biting his lip like he was thinking about pushing the subject further. He didn't.

Steve whipped his stupid orange car into a parallel parking space a few minutes later, having spotted the sign for the drugstore in question. Lynn climbed out of the passenger seat and stepped onto the curb as soon as her brother cut the engine, taking in her surroundings. This street looked more like the Brooklyn she had expected. Cars whizzed by them, and horns blared in her ears. Steve ducked out of the driver's seat and jogged around the front bumper to join her on the sidewalk. They pushed through the heavy foot traffic and finally burst into the shop where Sophie Delgato had worked.

It was a tiny corner store, the size of a particularly roomy walk-in closet. Shelving was crammed into every corner, and maneuvering the space was tricky even without the people milling about the makeshift aisles. Steve led the way to the counter, where a dark complexioned, white-haired man with tiny glasses was standing. He glared at them over the rims of his spectacles.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Lynn blinked. The man was a little rude for someone supposedly working on the customer-service end of things.

Steve raised his eyebrow, and then dug his fake NYPD badge out of his coat, flashing it at the older man. The man squinted at the badge, leaning in closer, but Steve snapped it shut and shoved it back into his leather jacket before he could get a better look. "We're here looking into the death of Sophie Delgato," he told the man. "She used to work here?"

The man stood a little straighter behind the counter, swallowing. "Yeah, I remember Sophie."

"Great," Steve replied, flashing him a wide smile. Lynn resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his insincerity. "Could we speak to the owner, or a manager…?"

"I'm the owner," the man snapped. "Redford Hayes. What do you want to know?"

Lynn widened her eyes, one eyebrow creeping towards her hairline. Steve blinked, taking a step back from the counter. "Redford Hayes," he repeated. "Uh… ok…"

Mr. Hayes looked ready to snap at her brother again, so Lynn stepped up to the cash register with a bright smile she didn't feel, and took over the questioning. "We're just looking into her personal life," she explained. "Trying to get an understanding about what might have happened to her in the days preceding her death."

"Didn't she jump out that window?" Mr. Hayes challenged her. "What's the NYPD care about that? Sure, it's sad, but it hardly warrants a police investigation."

"We're not actually sure she jumped," Lynn hedged carefully. "We just want to be absolutely certain about cause of death before we close her case."

The store-owner didn't look convinced, but he didn't ask her any further questions. Lynn cleared her throat and starting asking some questions of her own. "Was Sophie a pretty social woman?" she asked. "Have a lot of friends, went out a lot…"

"No," the man interrupted, shaking his head. "She was kind of a homebody. Lived alone, didn't know many people… wasn't big on going out."

"Did she know a woman named Kara Mills?"

"Not that I know of."

"Was there anyone new in her life? A boyfriend, or…"

"Nah. No boyfriends."

Lynn swallowed and nodded. "And there was no one suspicious hanging around her lately? She didn't mention a new friend who was maybe… uh…"

"She didn't do anything questionable," Mr. Hayes interrupted sharply. "She was a good girl."

Lynn nodded again, resting her fingertips on the counter. "Did she complain about anything weird happening?"

He frowned. "Weird how?"

"You know… strange noises… feelings of being watched… unexplained happenings in her home…"

"If that was going on, she didn't tell me," Mr. Hayes retorted. "She was a good girl, a little quiet, and she didn't get caught up in any nonsense like that. Now, anymore questions?"

Lynn shook her head. "No, that's all. Thank you for your time."

Mr. Hayes nodded once and then stepped away from the counter to help a customer. Lynn turned to her brother, who'd been quietly observing the conversation, and shrugged. "Well, that's that."

Steve nodded. "Maybe. Really hung up on that whole 'she was a good girl,' thing, you know? Didn't like the thought that maybe she wasn't."

"So?" Lynn asked. "She was his employee. He respected her. He thought you were an asshole. I mean, it doesn't mean anything."

Steve grunted and glared at the shopkeeper's back. Lynn rolled her eyes and turned away from the counter, ready to head to the exit. She stopped short and blinked.

Standing in the shadow of the doorway was a petite, heavily tanned, black haired woman. She was quite a few years older than the pictures Lynn had seen of her, but she could see the resemblance just the same. The woman lurking in the door met her eyes, and for a long moment the two of them stared at one another, frozen in place.

A particularly tall customer crossed in front of her, blocking the door from view. Lynn blinked, and then stepped to the side, craning her neck around the bulky, middle-aged man standing in her eye line.

There was no one in the doorway.

"Lynn?" she heard her brother ask. Lynn whirled around to meet his confused, concerned gray eyes. "You all right?"

She blinked, opened her mouth, and froze. "I…" she began, and then immediately stopped. Steve furrowed his brow at her, and took a step closer, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Lynn darted out of his reach and jogged instinctively towards the door.

"Lynn!" she heard Steve call after her. She ignored him. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, pounding furiously as she ran through the door and out into the street. The sounds of New York greeted her – car horns and squealing tires and people hollering at each other. She looked from side to side, up and down the sidewalk, and then across the busy street. Her eyes roved over the crowds pushing each other along the sidewalk, desperately searching for the woman from the doorway.

She was gone.

"Lynn!" her brother practically shouted in her ear, aggressively grabbing her arm. She flinched at the volume of his voice. "What the hell, weirdo? What's going on?"

She looked at him. Steve was staring at her, thunderstruck, the concern and confusion still obvious in his eyes. When she failed to respond immediately, he raised his eyebrows and grabbed hold of her other arm too, giving her a gentle shake. "What's going on?" he repeated, forcing calm into his voice.

Lynn swallowed. She gave her surroundings another quick look-over, but there was no sign of the woman from the doorway. Again, she met Steve's eyes, the words forming hesitantly on her tongue. Already she dreaded the response she was sure to receive.

"I think I saw my mother."

* * *

><p>Dean waited nearly half an hour for the cops to give up on Kara Mills' apartment and head out. When they finally left the scene, he led the way out of Inez Rodriguez's old place and crept over to the door across the hall. Jayne followed him, waiting patiently as he sliced through the crime scene seal on the door, pushed it open, and ducked under the yellow police tape. He held the tape up over her head as she stepped into the apartment behind him, and watched as she walked away from him, towards the single bedroom, with her flashlight in hand and her eyes on the floor.<p>

He went in the opposite direction, edging slowly towards the window. Still his eyes followed her as she moved away from him. Dean realized he wasn't sure if their earlier conversation in the other apartment counted as making up, or if they were still fighting. They hadn't spoken the entire time they'd waited for access to Kara Mills' apartment, which could not be a good sign.

Dean freely admitted he was an idiot.

"Hey," he whispered. "We good now?"

Jayne stopped short just inside the bedroom door. Then she turned around, raised her eyebrow, and stared at him, just long enough to make him uncomfortable. "You tell me," she finally replied, shrugging as she rested her hip on the doorjamb.

Dean swallowed. Infuriatingly, she just kept staring at him, her eyebrow creeping up higher towards her hairline. He shrugged too, and scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck, his elbow pointing up towards the ceiling.

"Yeah," he finally ventured. "We're good."

She stared at him a moment longer, not moving from where she leaned on the doorjamb. Her face was frozen in that skeptical expression, with the eyebrow still cocked. Dean hesitated at her non-reaction, swallowing again. "Right?" he asked.

A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. His stomach untwisted. Jayne let go all pretense of still being mad at him, and the small smirk blossomed into a full-blown smile. He smiled back involuntarily. "Right," she agreed with him.

Jayne turned back into the bedroom then, and Dean began circling the main living room, eyes on the floorboards. The apartment was an exact mirror of the one where Lynn's mother had lived, but the interior of this one was vastly different from the homey, pale blue palette across the hall. Everything was cold and white, with little furniture, no rugs on the hardwood, and no curtains hanging on the large window where only hours earlier, Kara Mills had jumped to her death.

Dean chanced a glance out the window in question. There was a gruesome burgundy stain on the cement below, complete with a disturbing white chalk outline. He looked at the windowsill and saw the recent scuffmarks from Kara's shoes. There was nothing etched into the sill, and he could find no odd markings carved into the floorboards.

He kept looking anyway, moving furniture around and shining his flashlight under tables and chairs and inside the kitchen cabinets. Jayne was making noises in the next room that suggested she was doing the same things. When he finally gave up on his search, he met up with her again in the apartment's only bathroom, where she was exploring underneath the sink.

"Find anything?" he asked gruffly.

She jumped about a foot in the air. He chuckled as Jayne crawled out from under the sink and glared at him. "Nope. You?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Ready to split?"

She nodded and clambered back up on her feet. Dean ducked out of the way and let her pass into the main room, following her to the exit. They headed down the fourth floor hallway in silence, taking the creaking steps to the ground level as quietly as possible.

Despite the two of them having apparently made-up, Dean couldn't help but notice the tension in the air. He had a feeling that was mostly his fault – or rather, he was painfully aware that it was entirely his fault. No matter how he squinted at their latest disagreement, he couldn't see a way to blame Jayne for it. He'd been the one to overreact. He'd been the one to get jealous and insecure. It was Dean who'd acted like a jackass.

Her phone buzzed just then, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Jayne dug the cell out of her jeans and took a look at the display. "Text from Lynn," she grunted at him, her thumbs moving quickly over the keys. "Um… she wants to meet at the Galaxy Motel, Room 221. She says it's an emergency."

"What happened?" Dean demanded, seeing the way her brow furrowed as she chewed her upper lip.

She shook her head, tucking the phone back in her jeans. "She didn't say."

They fell quiet again, reaching the bottom of the dark, narrow staircase. Jayne led the way down the cramped, gloomy front hall, towards the bright glass door that led to the street. Dean jogged slightly to keep up with her, following her out into the surprisingly harsh sunlight. He caught up to her as she turned left down the sidewalk, marching the several feet to where she'd parked her truck.

Impulsively, he placed his hand on the small of her back. Jayne jumped a little, and then raised her eyebrow at him. Dean swallowed, suddenly nervous.

"Uh…" he offered. He didn't remove his hand.

Her face softened. "I'm fine," she told him pointedly.

"Yeah, I know," he returned, trying to sound flippant. Still, he didn't move his hand, not until they'd reached the truck and she'd moved away from him to climb into the driver's seat.

He slid in next to her. Jayne started the truck as he studied the side of her face. She must have felt his eyes, because she turned and raised her eyebrow at him again.

"Can you stop being weird?" she asked him over the rumble of the engine.

"I'm not being weird," he retorted.

She stared at him. He stared back. Then she shrugged and put the truck in drive, pulling out of the parallel parking space.

Dean put his hand on her knee.

She looked down at his hand, and then back up at the windshield. "Ok, this is being weird," she announced.

"It's not weird!" Dean exclaimed. "You're… weird."

He didn't move his hand. Jayne didn't move at all, her eyes fixed sternly on the road. Dean sighed and finally took his hand off her knee, leaning back in the seat. "Sorry," he grunted.

She shrugged. "It's fine."

They were silent for a little while. Dean rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm not the one making this weird," he pointed out.

"Yes, you are!" she snapped.

"No, I'm…! Look, you know what, you're right. My bad. This _is_ weird. I mean, we _are_ knocking boots on the sly…"

"Let's definitely not call it that."

"…but we won't tell anyone, and we won't talk about it, and when we're not doing anything we won't touch each other. Sounds totally normal."

"Thank you for understanding."

He scoffed. Jayne rolled her eyes. "Let's just… drive in silence," she suggested. "Ok?"

Dean shrugged. "Fine. Whatever."

They sat silently for several seconds, the loud, obnoxious sound of the truck's engine rumbling in his ears.

"You need a new muffler," Dean suddenly announced, annoyed.

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do!"

"No, I don't."

"This truck sounds like a freaking freight train!"

"If you try to replace my muffler, I _will_ kill you!"

"That's completely psychotic!"

Jayne sighed harshly. "Can we _please_ discuss this later?"

He shrugged, leaning moodily against the door. "Fine."

There was another short silence. Jayne sighed again, shaking her head. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "I don't really know what I'm doing here."

Dean glanced at her. "I don't either," he admitted.

"Ok. Good. Let's just… do this slowly, ok?"

He stared at her, and then he nodded. "Ok."

Again, there was silence. He was less annoyed by it this time. The two of them sat quietly as Jayne steered the truck towards the Galaxy Motel. Janis' engine kept growling loudly in his ears.

"You really do need a new muffler," he informed her.

"Shut up."

* * *

><p>The Galaxy Motel was a small, futuristic, white building in the heart of Brooklyn with cheap rates and little to no customer service. It was a hole in the wall – a dump. The room was small and the furniture was cheap. It was done up in black and dark purples. The bathroom came equipped with a Jacuzzi that looked like a breeding ground for disease.<p>

Needless to say, Sam was not happy. He sat at a small table in the back corner of the room, opposite the two black and white beds and under the window that overlooked the street below. His laptop was booted up and taunting him. Sam glared at the monitor, and then redirected his glower at the other two people in the room.

"There's no Wi-Fi," he announced.

Steve scoffed from his perch on the edge of one of the beds. Lynn rolled her eyes at him as she flounced off into the bathroom. Sam could see her leaning towards the mirror over the sink, a container of floss in her hand.

"What's the matter, College?" Steve asked snidely. "Can't function without the old laptop for a couple days?"

"I just don't understand how you two could pick the one hotel in the universe that doesn't offer free Wi-Fi," Sam retorted.

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen!" Lynn called from the bathroom. "God, Sam, just steal it from the building next door!"

"It's the principle of the thing!" Sam called back. "How am I supposed to do any research without Wi-Fi?"

"Dude," Steve shook his head. "Library."

Lynn pranced back into the room and flopped down at the table across from him. "Just calm down," she ordered him. "Dean and Jayne will be here any minute, and then we can talk about what happened today."

Immediately, Sam remembered the text message that had pulled him away from the library and sent him rushing to this pit they had the nerve to call a motel. "Yeah, what was all that about an emergency?" he asked. "I mean, you look perfectly fine to me."

"We _are_ fine," Lynn returned primly.

Sam quirked his eyebrows. Steve fell backwards against his mattress. "Sure, fine," he drawled, looking at the ceiling. "Think Lynn might have dropped a few marbles somewhere along the way…"

"Shut up, Steve!"

"But other than that? We're totally cool."

Sam was about to ask more questions, but a knock on the door interrupted him. Lynn got up from the table and jogged to the door, standing on her toes to look through the peephole. Then she flung the door open wide, revealing Jayne and Dean standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Took you long enough," she said, stepping to the side so they could duck into the room.

"What's wrong?" Jayne demanded immediately, brushing past Dean in her haste to get in the room. Dean followed her in cautiously, closing the door behind him.

"Nothing," Lynn murmured. "I mean… maybe nothing."

"Maybe nothing?" Jayne echoed dangerously. "Your text said 'emergency.'"

"Yeah," Sam added from his corner. "Who's the drama queen now?"

"Shut up, Sam," Lynn, Jayne and Steve ordered at the same time. Sam blinked, taken aback, and then huffed indignantly.

Dean chuckled.

"Look, can we just start with what _you_ guys found out?" Lynn asked timidly. Sam could tell she was reconsidering this meeting already, and that made him nervous. "Like, what did you two find in Kara Mills' apartment?"

"Squat," Dean grunted.

Lynn looked inquiringly at Jayne, who nodded in agreement. "There's nothing there. No weird symbols, no EMF, no sulfur… nothing. What's the emergency?"

"Ok…" Lynn said too brightly, stepping away from her sister and ignoring the question. "Sam? Did you find anything out about that symbol?"

He froze, blinking at her sudden address. All eyes turned on him. Sam swallowed. "Uh…not a lot," he admitted. "I was right; it's pretty obscure, but it _is_ a veve."

"And a veve is again…?" Lynn prompted him sardonically.

Sam swallowed back his irritation and managed not to roll his eyes. "Most of the sources I looked at referred to it as a beacon, used in voodoo rituals to contact a loa. Each loa has its own specific veve."

Steve rudely interrupted him with a loud groan. "Jesus, Webster's, condense it down! This is seriously the longest explanation _ever_."

Lynn reached towards the bed and smacked her brother in the head. "Ow," he complained.

Sam glared at him, but ignored the sidebar. "The veve in Inez Rodriguez's old apartment is connected to the loa Kalfu, or Carrefour," he continued. "He's connected in some way to the loa Papa Legba… I'm just not sure how. Some sources say Kalfu is just another face of Legba; ultimately they're the same loa. But other sources say he's an entirely separate entity – kind of like Legba's dark twin."

"Question," Steve interrupted again. "Who the hell is Legba?"

"He's a very important figure in Haitian Vodou," Sam replied. "The first and last spirit invoked in rituals, because he opens and closes the door to the spirit world."

"So what does Kalfu do?" Lynn wanted to know. "If he's the dark twin?"

"Both Kalfu and Legba are mentioned in the crossroads myth," Sam said carefully. Even though he avoided Lynn's eyes, he saw her stiffen on the other side of the room. She'd seen the intersection that her mother's apartment overlooked; she'd already made the connection.

"So, what?" Lynn demanded. "They're in charge of the whole 'going down to the crossroads and selling your soul' business?"

"Not exactly," Sam replied. "It's more like the spiritual crossroads. You know, like where the spirits cross over from the other side. Guinee."

"What?"

Sam sighed, feeling harassed. "Guinee is the name for the spirit world."

"So, both of these loa things operate the spiritual crossroads?"

"Technically, Legba is in charge," Sam explained. "He can permit or deny access to the spirits. But Kalfu oversees other things."

"Like what?"

"Like…" Sam sighed again. "He lets the evil things pass."

Sam wasn't surprised when his announcement was met with a long, melodramatic silence. Lynn stood awkwardly in the center of the room, not moving, poised on the balls of her feet. She had her lip caught between her teeth and one hand twisted in her hair as she stared at the ugly maroon carpet. Sam watched her carefully, chancing only passing glances at the rest of the hunters. Steve was sitting up straight on the edge of the bed now, and his eyes were on his sister. Jayne was watching Lynn too, her arms folded defensively over her chest. Dean was looking at him, giving him the universal expression of 'help, I'm lost.'

Sam cleared his throat, and returned his eyes to Lynn. "Lynn?" he asked.

"So…" she hedged. "Uh… like… what are you saying, exactly? That symbol on the floor means… what? My mother was… was like… summoning evil things?"

"I didn't say that," Sam was quick to argue.

"No, you just said that the symbol on her apartment floor was used to communicate with a loa called Kalfu, who's main job description is letting evil shit pass the spiritual crossroads out of Guinness…"

"Guinee."

"Whatever, Sam! Sounds to me like somebody was summoning evil things, ok?"

Her breath was coming in short, hurried gasps. She sounded on the verge of hyperventilation. Sam stood up, stepping out from behind the table. Suddenly, he felt unaccountably guilty.

"Chill," Jayne barked. Lynn turned to her anxiously. "Seriously, don't hyperventilate. We don't know what happened. We don't know if Sam even found the right legend."

"Um… hey?" Sam interjected.

"We don't even know that symbol was in that apartment when your mother was," Jayne pressed on. "Maybe Sophie Delgato put that thing there. Maybe it was Mr. Chen. _We don't know_. Have your freak out later, once we know all the facts."

Lynn took a deep, shaky breath. She let it out slowly, shaking just as much on the exhale. Jayne raised an appraising eyebrow at her sister as Lynn nodded slowly.

"Right," Lynn breathed. "Not freaking out. Saving that for later."

"You sure?" Jayne asked.

Lynn nodded again.

"Good. Sit down."

Lynn complied immediately, sinking onto the other queen-sized bed. Her brother, still sitting on the other bed, frowned at her in concern.

"You sure you're holding it together, Lynn?" he asked.

"Of course she is," Jayne snapped.

And that was that.

"What was the emergency?" Jayne suddenly demanded again, rounding on her sister.

Lynn looked up at her with huge eyes. "Oh, that," she said, laughing slightly. It was high-pitched, shaky laughter, usually reserved for the hysterical. "Nothing at all. Just thought I saw my dead mother."

Chaos erupted.

"What?" Jayne exploded.

"Hold on," Dean butted in, stepping further into the room. "You're seeing dead people now? And you didn't lead with that because…"

"Hey, everybody get off her back," Steve barked, getting to his feet. "She's seeing dead people. She can react however she wants."

"Shut up," Dean snapped.

"You saw your mother?" Jayne repeated, still stuck on that.

"I don't know, maybe!" Lynn exclaimed, her voice all high and irrational. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her hands in her hair.

"You _maybe_ saw dead people?" Dean shouted.

"Shut up, Winchester!" Steve shouted back. "This is none of your business!"

"Well, I'm making it my business!"

"You _maybe_ saw your mother?" Jayne echoed belatedly.

Lynn nodded, her eyes still shut. Sam slowly got to his feet, looking from one face to the other, feeling helpless. "Ok," he tried, speaking as soothingly as possible. "Everybody try and calm down."

Three pairs of irate eyes turned on Sam instead of one another. Lynn, however, didn't look up. She didn't even open her eyes. Sam swallowed and focused on Jayne, Dean and Steve. Anything he might have said died instantly in his throat.

"Uh…" he said instead, crinkling his nose. He had nothing.

"Thanks for that inspiring speech," Steve retorted. "You two guys are full of great stuff."

"Steve," Jayne sighed harshly. "Shut up."

Sam allowed himself a small smirk. Steve sneered at his sister, who ignored him completely. Before anyone else could speak up, Lynn suddenly stood, her hands releasing her hair and dropping at her sides. "Ok, enough!" she announced. "Seriously, enough. No more yelling at one another, no more sarcasm, no more freaking out. Everybody be calm. If no one's being calm, I can't be calm. I need to be calm!"

Everyone stared at Lynn instead, Sam included. He swallowed so hard he could feel his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Instinctively, he took a step closer, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side. He opened his mouth, but he didn't know what to say.

"Lynn," Jayne murmured, reaching for her sister's shoulder. Lynn ducked away.

"Ok, I was wrong," she said. "I don't need calm; I need a cigarette."

Then she stormed out of the motel room and slammed the door.

Silence followed her over-the-top exit. Sam stared at the door for a moment, and then glanced around at the rest of the room. Jayne ran her hand through her hair, closing her eyes and puffing out exasperated air through her nose.

"Well," Steve muttered, sinking back onto the bed. "That's just great."

Dean leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. Sam tried to catch his eye, but Dean's focus was on Jayne. She rolled her shoulders and tossed her hair. "All right," she spoke up, taking charge. "So… we've got a weird symbol that represents some voodoo demon thing…"

"Kalfu," Sam felt the need to correct her. "He's a loa."

"Whatever," Jayne dismissed him. "And we've got Inez, and the weird circumstances surrounding her death, and then we've got the two dead girls, and now we've got Lynn seeing her dead mother. So… anyone got a theory?"

She was greeted with blank stares. Jayne looked at each of them in turn, and raised an eyebrow. "Seriously," she said. "I'll take anything."

Sam wished he had a theory. He wished he had _any_ idea _at all_.But there was seemingly nothing to connect the deaths. There was nothing to connect Kalfu with the current circumstances. As for Lynn seeing her mother…

"Stress?" he offered. When Jayne and Steve glared at him, he instantly regretted opening his mouth.

"Stress?" Jayne repeated.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know… I mean, Lynn's under a lot of pressure right now involving her mother, and maybe…"

"Seriously?" Steve interrupted. "Stress? That's all you got? You see people die before it happens, and I light things on fire with my mind, and every day of our goddamn lives we see ghosts and demons and freaking vampires, but stress is your answer right now? Your guess is stress."

"All right," Jayne muttered, waving dismissively at her brother. "We got it."

"Seriously, Jaynie?" Steve retorted. "_Stress_. That's lame!"

"I know," she ground out behind her teeth. "_We got it_."

"Hey, it's not lame," Sam couldn't help defending himself. The comment earned him two identical gray-eyed glares. "Seriously! I mean, the rest of the stuff… clearly something's going on there. But Lynn seeing her mother… that could just be…"

"It's not stress," Steve snapped. "She's not going crazy, all right? I joke, you know, but… she's not crazy."

"I didn't say she was," Sam argued.

"You suggested it!"

"No! I…! Stress is not the same as crazy!"

"Well, as much fun as it is, watching you two pull one another's hair," Dean drawled, pushing himself off the wall. "Shut up."

"You shut up," Steve retorted mulishly, but the immature backtalk did little to faze Dean.

Jayne rolled her eyes. "OK," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's just… work this case, all right? Steve, you find Lynn, and the two of you can go through Russ's journals again. Then you'll meet Sam at the library. Sam? You're going to the library."

"I picked up on that," he returned dryly. "But actually, I was planning on it. I didn't get a chance to finish looking through a lot of the source work about voodoo and the different loa, and I thought there might be some helpful stuff in there."

"Great," Jayne shrugged. "Then you should look through it again. Steve, once you and Lynn are done with the journals, you'll help Sam."

"Sounds fantastic," Steve grumbled.

"Did you two manage to check out where Kara Mills worked?"

"Nope."

"Dean and I will do that. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Sounds good. Meet back here?"

"Or the library. Let us know when you finish."

She grabbed her truck keys and then grabbed Dean's arm. Dean barely had time to snatch his jacket before Jayne had yanked him out the door.

Sam watched the door close behind them. He glanced at Steve, who was standing awkwardly by the bed, running a hand over his closely shaven head.

"I'm going to find Lynn," he offered.

Sam nodded, slowly shutting his laptop. "Ok," he agreed. "Sounds good."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Steve asked.

The comment successfully got under his skin, but Sam refused to rise to the bait. He smirked, nodded again, and shoved his laptop into his carrying case. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Steve stood at the foot of the bed with his arms folded over his chest, looking like a ridiculously short bouncer in front of a tough night club. Sam rolled his eyes, finished packing up his stuff, and then headed for the exit.

"See you," he said, opening the door.

Steve just glared at him.

Sam rolled his eyes one more time before walking out of the room. He let the door fall shut with a _bang!_ Then he made his way towards the elevator, the keys to Dean's Impala jangling in his hand. He was going to the library, and he wasn't going to let Steve Juarez chase him away with his big, bad attitude.

He also wasn't going to punch him. Or at least, he was going to try.

* * *

><p>Lynn leaned against the exterior wall of the Galaxy motel, just under the second story window of her motel room, and puffed on a much needed cigarette. The street in front of her was busy, with cars blowing on past every few seconds, sending exhaust fumes into her hair. Lynn closed her eyes and knocked her head backwards on the white brick wall. She inhaled deeply on her cigarette, holding it in her lungs, and then slowly exhaled, watching the smoke circle into the air above her head.<p>

If she was being absolutely, one-hundred percent honest with herself, she was not ok. Of course, Lynn was trying very hard _not_ to be honest with herself at the moment, but that was beside the point. From the beginning, she'd been having a hard time dealing with this whole possible hunt. She couldn't quite look at this thing about her mother without blinking a little. But now it was even worse. Ever since the drugstore, when she'd thought she'd seen…

Well, clearly she hadn't seen her. That was impossible. It was crazy. _She _was crazy. Clearly losing her mind. She kept expecting the woman to pop up again, around every corner, lurking in every shadow. That was even crazier.

A door slammed somewhere close by. Lynn jumped, dropping her cigarette on the pavement. She looked around her frantically before realizing there was nothing exciting happening. She'd overreacted. Sighing, Lynn stubbed out her cigarette with the toe of her boot and shook her head.

She turned towards the building entrance. She froze. Standing by the front canopy was the same small, middle-aged, black haired woman from the drugstore. Lynn watched, stuck in place, swallowing hard, as the woman stared at her from the shadows. Neither of them moved a muscle for a long time.

The woman, after a while, took a step forward, out of the shadows and into the sunlight. Lynn could see where her wavy black hair was streaked with gray, and where frown lines had developed in her copper-toned skin. She'd really thought for a moment, back in that drugstore, that this woman had been her mother.

Now, she was less certain. The woman looked like her mother, but something was slightly off – other than the fact that her mother was dead and this woman was very much alive, of course. Something about the blunt shape of her nose, and the hard line of her chin had Lynn comparing her to photos she'd seen of her mother and coming up short.

Lynn hesitantly shoved herself off the motel wall and took a few tiny steps forward. The woman tensed visibly. Lynn froze. Another long moment passed with the two of them just staring at each other. Then Lynn took another slow, wincing step forward. When the woman didn't bolt, Lynn kept going. She walked slowly down the sidewalk to the motel entrance, coming to a stop directly in front of the petite, middle-aged woman.

"Maria Rodriguez," she greeted her, folding her arms defensively over her chest.

The woman arched a thick black brow. "Lynnette."

Lynn breathed a sigh of relief, and then stiffened, frowning. "So… you know who I am."

Maria nodded. "You look just like Russ."

It wasn't the first time she'd heard that. Lynn swallowed, and took a deep breath through her nose. "So… you've just been following me around Brooklyn like a creepy stalker, huh?"

The older woman ducked her head and Lynn caught the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "You could say that," she murmured. "I'd rather you didn't."

There was a brief, awkward silence. Lynn glanced around them, pursing her lips, and then shrugged. "Well, ok… so what gives? Why were you following me? Why didn't you come up to me and say something… or actually, why are you even here?"

Maria blinked at that, making eye contact again. "I live here," she replied, sounding faintly baffled.

Lynn colored. "Oh."

Another awkward silence ensued. Maria studied her critically, her dark eyes narrowed and searching. Lynn frowned again. "How did you know _I_ was here?" she asked.

Maria smiled slightly. "I saw you at Inez's old place," she said. "When that poor girl died… I knew I had to look into everything again."

"Again?" Lynn demanded, pouncing on the word like a lifeline.

"Well, this isn't the first time something like this has happened in that place," Maria replied. "You would know, of course. I assume that's why you're here now."

"Yeah," Lynn whispered. "You got me."

More silence. Maria stared at her evenly, like she was waiting for something. Lynn shuffled under her unrelenting gaze, not sure where she was supposed to go after all that.

"So," she murmured. "You're my aunt?"

Maria nodded, smirking slightly. "That's what they told me."

Lynn nodded too. Maria's smirk spread into a wide, guileless smile. "I've always wondered, you know," she told Lynn. "Russ took you, all those years ago, after my sister…" she choked slightly, cleared her throat, and carried on. "Well, it seemed like what was best at the time. But I… I still always wondered. Wondered about you, what you might look like, who you'd grow up to be."

There was a warm flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. Lynn swallowed, shrugging nervously. Maria kept going. "You look just like Russ," she said again. "But there's also something very Inez-like about you."

"We met five minutes ago," Lynn couldn't keep from saying. "Big time conclusion to draw there, after five minutes."

Maria chuckled quietly. "That right there? Was something Inez would have said."

Lynn didn't smile. She couldn't. The last thing she wanted at that moment was to be told she was just like Inez. Maria didn't seem to notice her discomfort. The woman reached out and squeezed her arm.

"I think you and I should talk," she announced.

The woman's hand burned against her bare arm, foreign and wrong. It took a lot of energy not to shrug it off, throwing the kind gesture back in the stranger's face. Lynn narrowed her eyes and offered her mystery aunt a single, stiff nod. "Yeah," she agreed. "I think we should."

Maria nodded once and turned, leading the way down the street. Lynn glanced over her shoulder at the Galaxy Motel, her stomach turning over ever so slightly. It was a guilty feeling. But she pushed it aside and followed Maria down the street, towards all the answers she needed to know.

* * *

><p>The bar where Kara Mills had worked was a club in the heart of Brooklyn. When Jayne and Dean reached the bar, it had just opened for the night. The place was deserted, and the employees inside were getting ready for the late night rush that would occur in a few hours. Jayne followed Dean inside the club, her eyes darting around the dark, empty, too large room. Everything was bare and cold and metal. There were colored lights hanging from the high ceiling, but they weren't on yet.<p>

A middle-aged, pasty man was behind the bar while a female employee bustled around him, cleaning glasses and setting up her station. He was hunched over some paperwork, twirling a number two pencil between his fingers, while he held up his balding head in his free hand.

"Hey!" Dean called to him. "Excuse me! You in charge around here?"

The man looked up in surprise as the two of them approached the bar. "Yeah…" he said cautiously. "Why?"

Dean flashed his Fed badge. Jayne followed suit. The man sat up straighter behind the bar. "We're looking into the recent death of your former employee."

"Kara?" the man asked. "Cops were just here a little while ago. I told them everything I know."

"Just a few routine questions," Dean replied smoothly. "For the federal record."

It took a lot of energy not to roll her eyes at that line. The man behind the bar looked skeptical, but rolled with it. "All right then."

"What's your name?" Jayne asked.

"John Smith."

She blinked. "John Smith," she repeated carefully.

"Yep. That's me."

"Seriously?" Dean retorted.

"Hey, guys, I don't know what to tell you," John Smith replied, holding up his hands. "I guess my parents had a sense of humor."

Dean shot her a pained look. Jayne rolled her eyes and took over. "Ok, John Smith," she said. "How long did Kara work here?"

"About five months."

"Was she friendly? Outgoing?"

"Not really, if I'm being honest."

"So she didn't have a lot of friends here?"

"Not here. Didn't really socialize with the people at work."

"How about outside of work?"

"Not that I know of. She was kind of private."

"So there wasn't anyone new in her life hanging around? Someone suspicious maybe?"

"Nope."

"Did she mention anything weird?" Dean cut in.

This earned him a frown. "I don't know… weird how?"

"You know, man… _weird. _Strange noises, maybe? Felt like someone was watching her?"

John Smith frowned harder at him and shook his head. "No, none of that, as far as I know. Was Kara involved in something? Because the cops made it sound like it was a routine suicide."

"Yeah, it probably was," Dean replied. "But we've got to cover all the bases."

John Smith didn't look satisfied, but Jayne didn't much care. She cleared her throat meaningfully. Dean caught her drift. "Well, thanks for your time… John Smith," he smirked.

The guy rolled his eyes. Dean turned and headed for the exit. Jayne followed him outside into the fading afternoon light. "We're not going to find anything weird about this chick, are we?" Dean grumbled, leading the way up the street. "Nothing weird about her, nothing weird about Sophie Delgato…"

"No," Jayne said softly. "I'm thinking maybe we aren't."

Dean stopped walking and turned around to look at her. She met his eyes and shrugged. Before either of them could say a word, her cell phone started buzzing. Dean looked away as she dug the phone out of jeans and answered it.

"What?" she snapped.

"I can't find Lynn."

Her brother's voice was panicked. Jayne's breath caught in her throat, and her stomach twisted over, knotting itself up with nausea. "What?" she said again, this time too low, too calm.

"I can't find Lynn!" Steve barked. "Ok? I looked for her outside because I knew she'd be smoking, but she's not there! She's not in the room, or anywhere else in the hotel, and she's not answering her phone! Ok? I can't find Lynn."

He was breathless, and his tirade petered out with an exhausted sigh. Jayne swallowed hard. She felt sick, like she'd eaten some bad burger. Dean was frowning at her now, but she turned her back on him. "OK," she breathed out, aiming for cool, calm and collected. "Your car…?"

"Still here."

"No note in the room? No text message?"

"Nothing, Jaynie! She's just gone!"

"How long?"

"I don't know… thirty minutes?"

"Maybe she took a walk. Just needs some time, you know? Didn't feel like talking, so she's not picking up."

"I left her a panicked voicemail, Jaynie! Several panicked texts! She could at least text back, let me know she's not…"

He growled, interrupting himself, and then sighed in exasperation. "Look, after everything that happened today, can you just admit I'm justified in freaking out a little bit?"

Steve sounded like Lynn when he talked like that. Jayne closed her eyes for a moment, searching for the right words. She didn't want him to freak out, and she didn't want him to know that _she_ was freaking out. But she didn't want to write this off, either.

"Ok, I get it," she told him quietly. "It's weird. After everything… it's weird, you're right. Just… you need to stop panicking. I'm sure she's fine."

"How are you sure? Don't bull shit me."

"Just try and call her again, ok? Then turn on the GPS on her phone."

"How the hell do I do that?"

Jayne sighed. "Ok, _I'll_ do that. Just… quit freaking out. You're supposed to be Joe Cool, remember? Nothing shakes you up?"

"I _am_... I mean, you know I don't… whatever. You suck. Just get back here and help me fix this crap."

Then he hung up the phone.

Jayne stared at the nearest parking meter for a second. Then she shut her eyes again, slowly lowering the phone and ending the call. She swallowed, sighed, opened her eyes, and turned back to Dean.

"Lynn go AWOL?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You ok?"

Jayne rolled her eyes. "Quit asking me that."

He ducked his head once in agreement. "Ok. We headed back to the motel?"

"Yeah. I'm going to call the phone company, turn on her GPS."

"Sounds like a plan."

She brushed past him, keys hanging from her hand, and marched for the truck. Dean jogged after her, and the two of them clambered into the cab. Jayne started her up, intent on finding Sam at the library before calling the phone company, so he could track her sister's signal on his laptop.

Dean was silent in the cab beside her. Jayne glanced at him out the corner of her eye, but he stared steadily through the windshield. She wished she knew what was wrong with them – what was wrong with _her_. Things had gotten so strange, so fast, and all of a sudden it felt like it was all moving too quickly. With his hand on her knee, and the weird way he was acting… like they'd actually put a label on the thing they were refusing to label.

They couldn't act like they had a label without actually labeling anything. It was stupid. It was _weird_. She was putting her foot down.

She had bigger problems, anyway. After all the weird things that had gone down that day, with Inez Rodriguez's old apartment and the death of Kara Mills… not to mention Lynn seeing her dead mother in a corner store… the _last_ thing they needed was for Lynn to up and vanish.

So of course, Lynn had up and vanished.

"You're probably right," Dean spoke up suddenly, his voice too loud and wrong in the silence of the cab. "Today was seven different kinds of crazy. Lynn just needs a breather. She'll be back when she calms down."

He was trying to make her feel better. It wasn't working. "I know," she agreed out loud, even though her heart wasn't in it. "This is just… Steve's worried."

She was worried too. Dean nodded, and put his hand on her knee again.

This time, she let him.

* * *

><p>Sam was engrossed in a text book about voodoo rituals when he felt a shadow looming over him. Frowning, he looked up, and nearly jumped out of his seat.<p>

Standing in front of his small study table in a quiet corner of the Brooklyn Public Library were Dean, Jayne and Steve. Steve reached across the table and snatched his book, snapping it shut.

"Hey," Sam protested faintly. "I was… what are you guys doing here already?"

"Lynn disappeared," Jayne informed him. "I got the GPS on her cell turned on. Fire up that laptop and trace her signal."

It was an order, not a request. Sam normally would have bristled under the sudden military presence, but the words 'Lynn disappeared' effectively distracted him. He swallowed, surprised (but not really) at the flips his stomach performed. "What do you mean, Lynn disappeared?" he asked, keeping his voice low and steady.

"What does it sound like, Encyclopedia Brown?" Steve snarked at him. "She's gone. Vanished. Not a trace. Find her."

Sam tensed up, his shoulders tightening around his neck and his hands squeezing into fists. He swallowed again and tried to be diplomatic, even though he kind of wanted to throttle Steve Juarez. "Ok," he said slowly, opening his laptop and typing in his password. "So… what happened, exactly?"

"We don't know," Jayne told him. She was a lot less brisk and rude than her brother, and for some reason that really _did_ surprise Sam. "She left the motel room for a smoke, remember? Steve went to find her, and… she just wasn't there."

"And she's not picking up her phone," Steve added sharply. "So type faster, University."

"It's _Sam_," he growled. "Seriously, one more witty nickname and I'm going to…"

"Enough," Jayne interrupted. "Shut up, Steve. Sam, just… seriously, though, could you type faster?"

He glared at her, opening his browser window and doing as requested. "Just give me a moment," he said. "I'll find her."

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. Sam ignored him as he began pacing the small corner impatiently. Dean jerked out a chair and took a seat at the table, drumming his fingers on his knee. His brother was being unnaturally quiet, but Sam figured he could call him on it after they'd found Lynn.

Jayne kept standing directly across the table from him, with her hands resting on the tabletop. She watched him impatiently as Sam followed the necessary channels and finally got Lynn's GPS signal.

"She's in the Bronx," he announced. "I've got the address."

"The Bronx?" Steve repeated incredulously, halting his pacing. "What the hell is she doing in the Bronx?"

"Strange as it is, I can't tell that just by looking at her GPS signal," Sam retorted.

Steve sneered.

"All right," Jayne intervened. "Let's go."

Sam packed up his laptop and the books he was planning to check out. Dean got to his feet and followed Jayne and Steve towards the exit. Alone again, Sam swallowed a lump that had unexpectedly developed in his throat.

He was nervous and jittery and little bit afraid. Suddenly, he was just as anxious as Jayne and Steve to find Lynn.

* * *

><p>Maria Rodriguez lived in a small, rundown brick townhouse in the Bronx, with a couple air conditioning units hanging out her front windows. A few scrubby looking shrubs peeked out around her front steps, which led directly onto the city sidewalk. Lynn looked apprehensively around the neighborhood as Maria led her up the stairs, unlocked her doors, and then led her inside the small home.<p>

Inside the townhouse it was dark and cramped. Maria switched on an overhead light, illuminating the tiny entryway and the narrow staircase that led to the second story. Lynn stood hesitantly just over the threshold, the front door shut behind her, taking it all in. There was an altar to the left of the stairs, sandwiched between the banister and the doorway to the tiny kitchen in the back of the house. A black cloth was draped over the old wooden table, with two candles placed on top. Between the candles sat a wide brimmed straw hat and an old pipe. Leaning against the table was a battered, makeshift crutch. Situated to the right of the far candle was something that looked suspiciously like a dog skull.

Maria followed her eyes, standing by the entrance to the kitchen. "My Legba altar," she announced. "Do you know Papa Legba?"

The familiar name struck a panicky chord deep in Lynn's gut. "He's the one who oversees the spirit crossroads, right?" she asked, turning her eyes to the ceiling. "He lets them over to this side, so we can talk to them or whatever?"

She wished she hadn't looked up. Scaly chicken talons hung over her head. Lynn danced away from the door, involuntarily scrunching up her face with repulsion.

"Chicken's feet ward off bad hoodoo," Maria told her pointedly. Lynn tried not to look nauseated. "At least, that's what my mother used to say."

"Oh," Lynn replied. "Um…"

Maria turned away and went into the kitchen. "Right through here, please, Lynnette."

She followed her aunt into the kitchen. There was nothing creepy hiding in there. "I actually go by Lynn," she told Maria hesitantly, her eyes darting all around the kitchen as she searched for more chicken's feet.

"That's a shame," Maria replied. Lynn blinked, bristling. Maria headed over to the stove and turned on the kettle. "Tea?"

"Um… ok…" Lynn murmured. Maria grabbed mugs and tea bags from the cabinet next to the stove.

"You can sit down," Maria said.

Lynn really didn't want to sit down, but she did it anyway. In the middle of the tiny blue and white kitchen was a small wooden table with three chairs pulled up to it. Lynn sat in the one nearest to the exit and folded her hands nervously on the tabletop. There was a lacy white curtain hanging over the sole kitchen window, just over the sink. Next to the stove stood the solid white back door, equipped with a small window as well, and another lacy white curtain to cover it. The room beyond the kitchen was dark, and Lynn couldn't make out what was lurking over there.

Maria leaned on the counter with her arms folded over her chest, and stared Lynn down. "So," she announced. "I suppose you want to know more about your mother."

She swallowed at that, forcing a quick smile, and then lowered her eyes to the table. "Really, I'd like to know _anything_ about my mother," she replied.

Her aunt tilted her chin towards the ceiling, standing up straighter against the counter. There was a regal look to the middle-aged woman when she stood like that, with her head high. "What do you mean?" she asked coldly.

Lynn swallowed again. "Just that… my father… he didn't really say much about her."

Maria tilted her chin still higher. "Your father… he told you nothing about your mother?" she demanded, her tone still icy. "Nothing about your family? Nothing about your _roots_?"

Quailed by the woman's cold fury, it was all Lynn could do to shrug.

Her aunt tossed her hair, and the regality Lynn had attributed to her increased tenfold. "Hmph," she scoffed. "I always knew Russ Juarez couldn't be trusted to properly raise a Rodriguez child."

"Hey," Lynn found herself defending the man. "My dad did the best he could, ok?"

She didn't really believe it. As the words left her lips, she found herself reflecting back on missed milestones and school years spent on the road, traveling from one ghost hunt to the next. Memories of math homework while some shrieking demon was exorcised in the background by her father and stepsister, as Steve lay face down in a pillow with his headphones jammed into his ears.

Maria's face softened. "Of course he did," she agreed. "But he should have told you about your mother. About all of us."

"Who's _us_?" Lynn asked carefully.

She watched the older woman walk into the darkened adjoining room. Her long skirt swished around her ankles, and Lynn could see her shadowy silhouette moving through the gloom. When Maria returned, there was a framed photo in her hands.

Maria sat across the table and handed the photo to Lynn. She took it in both hands and peered down at the aging, sepia-toned picture. A younger, high-school version of Maria stared back at her, holding hands with a small girl that Lynn recognized immediately as her mother. Standing behind them with her hands on their shoulders was an older woman, streaked with gray, who looked back hard at the camera.

"That was my mother," Maria said. "Marcella Rodriguez. She raised us on her own in New Orleans. We moved here later, after I graduated high school."

"You all look so much alike," Lynn murmured, feeling a little lost. They were all dark skinned and black-haired, with chocolate eyes. Just like her, and yet not at all. She couldn't see herself in their faces. She had no one's nose, no one's jaw line, no one's brow.

"You took after Russ," Maria allowed. "But you're Rodriguez through and through. Don't forget that."

Seriously, the woman was taking familial pride to a whole new level. Already uncomfortable, the added pressure of 'being Rodriguez' was enough to send Lynn bolting for the door. She didn't run, though. She kept her seat. "What happened?" she asked Maria. "When my mother fell from that window? Did she really jump?"

"That I can't tell you," Maria replied. "She had her reasons to jump, sure. But there were others who had their reasons to push her."

Lynn swallowed. She quickly put down the photograph, as though it were starting to burn holes through her fingers. "Like who?" she pushed, although her voice was squeaky.

Maria stared evenly back at her. "No one from this world, of that you can be sure."

"What happened?" Lynn demanded, sitting up straighter and pushing herself further back from the table. "No more cryptic answers, ok? I hate cryptic. I need straight shooting. What did she get herself into? Why was that veve on her bedroom floor?"

A flicker of recognition reflected back in her aunt's dark eyes. "You saw the veve," she murmured. "Well, that's something. I told her not to carve the thing into the floor."

"Why?" Lynn pounced immediately.

"Veves aren't supposed to be carved into things, you know. Well, I suppose you don't know. I suppose Russ never told you anything about it."

"You suppose right," Lynn retorted. "I get it, ok? He's a bad family historian. Why don't you carve veves into things?"

"They should be drawn with wood ash and cornmeal," Maria explained. "Ideally. The carvings are too permanent. A carving gives the loa too much access to your home."

"So she gave some loa too much access to her home?" Lynn asked impatiently.

"She gave some loa too much access to everything," Maria replied. "She went in too deep. Touched something too dark. I couldn't tell you what exactly. She didn't like to involve me more than she had to. But whatever it was, she touched it and it touched back… and she could never get it to let go again."

There was a long silence. The tea kettle began to whistle. Lynn sat still and stared dumbly at the tabletop as Maria got to her feet and took the kettle off the stove. She poured the steaming water into the mugs and steeped the tea bags. Lynn swallowed, hard, and then looked up at Maria's back.

"The loa she gave too much access," she said. "Kalfu?"

Maria stiffened. She did not turn around.

"You have that altar in the entryway," Lynn went on. "For Papa Legba. Isn't Kalfu, like… the dark twin?"

Maria set the kettle down gently on the stove. She picked up the mugs and turned around rigidly. Lynn watched as Maria crossed back to the table and placed a mug in front of her guest, before lowering herself back into her chair.

"I looked into it," Lynn pressed. "He oversees the crossroads too. But he can let the dark spirits across, can't he?"

"Most things that come across those roads are good things," Maria told her. "Most loa are good too. They look after us, and guide us. When they come to mount us in rituals, it is usually to offer some blessing, or pass along the blessing of a loved one who died."

Lynn nodded slowly. "Ok… but not all of them?"

Maria bowed her head. "Sometimes dark things get across too. Kalfu is not bad, you understand. He's not evil. It's not that simple. He just lets things in that Legba wouldn't."

"It's like Pandora's box?" Lynn suggested.

Maria smiled slightly. "I guess that's one way to put it."

"So my mother communicated mostly through Kalfu?" Lynn guessed. "And he let something through that he shouldn't have, and she got too attached to it? Or…?"

"Like I said, I can't be sure," Maria interrupted. "But she changed after awhile. The darker her practice got, the darker she got too. And that apartment building… after she fell, that place was never the same."

"So you _do_ think that something's in there?" Lynn insisted. "Like a spirit or a demon…?"

"Maybe," Maria returned carefully. "Whatever it is, it hides well."

"We couldn't pick anything up on the EMF," Lynn told her. "There's no sulfur. If something's in there…"

"Like I said," Maria gently cut her short. "It hides well."

There was a moment of silence. Lynn contemplated this new information, chewing her lip. The mug of tea warmed her hands, but she quite forgot to drink from it. Maria lifted her cup to her lips and sipped the steaming liquid.

Suddenly, the front door flew open and hit the wall with a _bang!_

Maria jumped, her eyes going wide. Lynn leapt to her feet and drew her Glock from her waistband. Her finger tightened impulsively on the trigger, almost firing, when something raced into the kitchen.

It was her sister. Directly behind her was Steve, and appearing in the darkened room on the other side of the kitchen were Sam and Dean. Lynn lowered her gun immediately, releasing the trigger entirely, gasping as she realized there'd been no danger at all.

Maria was still startled and wide-eyed, looking all around her in wonder. "What in the world…?"

"Lynn?" Steve demanded, pushing past Jayne and grabbing Lynn by her shoulders. "What's going on? What are you doing here? Are you ok?"

"I don't know," Lynn replied, tackling one question at a time. "I came here to get some answers. And again… I don't know."

Steve screwed up his face incredulously. Jayne lowered her own gun, tucking it back into her jeans. Sam and Dean had finally entered the kitchen now, and they lowered their weapons too. It was actually pretty awkward, Lynn had to admit, the sight of all these people hulking around the too small, too cramped kitchen.

"What the hell are _you _all doing here?" Lynn demanded.

Steve looked at the floor, his cheeks turning pink. "You vanished," he mumbled. "You wouldn't pick up your phone. I got worried."

She frowned at him, and turned to Jayne. Her sister shrugged. "We traced the GPS on your phone," she said matter-of-factly.

Lynn rolled her eyes. "Ok, you bunch of drama queens. As you can all see, I am not injured, dead, or kidnapped. Satisfied?"

"Shut up," Steve grumbled.

Jayne just raised an eyebrow at her, and Lynn knew she had a lecture coming the moment they were in private.

"Who's the broad?" Dean asked smartly.

Maria looked offended. Lynn gave her an apologetic smile.

"Everybody, this is my aunt," she announced. "Maria Rodriguez. Maria… this is… everybody."

She had a sinking feeling nobody was going to take that announcement very well.


	14. Witchy Woman

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

**Disclaimer No. 2: I do not practice any variant of voodoo or hoodoo, and gleaned what little I know from questionable internet sources and an old college textbook. Some details I've undoubtedly gotten wrong and other details I've chosen to get wrong. While the voodoo-related portions of this fic are rooted in what I believe to be fact (or perceived fact) I have taken many liberties, and assure you that overall, my interpretations of both the spell-work and the legends are first and foremost fictional, and most often inaccurate.**

AN: Big thank yous to AshlynPaige92, miranmary, angeleyenc, ColtFan165, Spelllesswonder29, WinchesterSalvatoreLover, Vegas here i comee, SwAlLoWiNg DaNtE, musiciansnerd, SPN Mum, chabitso.0, It Belongs In A Museum, Surreal Yume and Unctuous for all the awesome reviews!

Standard apology: I'm so sorry this took so long! I know, it's been months, I am horrible. That being said, I actually have a sort of decent excuse, and I think you'll all be pleased about it; this chapter is _long_. Like, _super_ long. I know all my chapters are pretty long, but this is like… _twice_ as long as usual. Honestly? It should probably be two chapters, but it all felt like it belonged together, so… here it is. All together. Enjoy.

* * *

><p>Chapter 14: Witchy Woman<p>

After she'd introduced her aunt to the surly group gathered in the other woman's kitchen, Lynn waited patiently for someone – _anyone_ – to say something – _anything_ at all. She got nothing but silence for her trouble. Maria sat expectantly at the kitchen table, but no one said anything to her. She got hard eyes from Dean, skeptical eyes from Sam, and a raised eyebrow from Jayne. Steve stared at Maria, then at Lynn, and then at Maria again.

"_What_?" he finally exploded, breaking the stillness of Maria's tiny, crowded kitchen. His face was screwed up in predictable incredulity, and Lynn took a deep steadying breath, bracing herself.

"This is my aunt," she repeated herself. "Maria. This is my little brother Steve."

"I could tell," Maria replied, trying to sound pleasant. She didn't quite pull it off, as though she were out of practice navigating a social situation. "You both look so much like Russ."

"That's great, lady," Steve snapped. "Excuse me if I don't jump all over that, though. Still processing here."

"Steve!" Lynn scolded him. "What the hell? Don't be an ass!"

"Your aunt, huh?" Jayne asked. To the untrained ear, her voice was calm and impassive. Lynn's ear was not untrained, however, and she could hear the hard underlying notes of skepticism, irritability and distrust. She swallowed as Jayne went on. "Where'd she come from?"

"The apartment," Lynn explained carefully. "She was looking into the deaths too, and she saw us there. Maria, this is my older sister Jayne."

"Hello," Maria murmured.

Jayne jerked her chin up in a stiff nod. "Hi," she said shortly.

Awkward silence ensued once again. Lynn swallowed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Dean was still staring at Maria's back with hard, distrusting eyes. Lynn looked at Sam, who seemed to sense her growing unease and panic. He jumped forward, awkwardly bumbling over to the kitchen table, and startled Maria when he held out his hand. The older woman still managed to recover quickly enough to grasp his hand and shake it.

"Hi!" he greeted her, a little too loud and super awkward. "Um… sorry about busting in here. We'll totally pay for that door."

"We'll _what_?" Dean interjected.

"My door?" Maria repeated faintly.

Lynn planted her face in her palm.

"Uh… you know, it's not important?" Sam tried to recover. "We just… my name's Sam Winchester, and that's my brother Dean. We're, uh… we're friends of your niece."

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Right," she replied. "Well… nice to meet you."

"You too!" Sam agreed, a little too enthusiastically.

"Yeah, jury's still out on that one," Dean grumbled, folded his arms confrontationally over his chest.

"Dean…" Lynn warned.

"What?" he groused. "We're just supposed to be a-ok with this latest wacky development?"

Lynn folded her arms over her chest too, equally confrontational, and tilted her chin up high. "Yes," she returned frostily. "You are. And if you're not, you are supposed to keep it to yourself."

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned heavily against the kitchen wall. He didn't say anything else, but Lynn could tell he was far from ok with this 'latest wacky development,' and he was also far from finished speaking about it.

Great. Two lectures to look forward to later; one from Jayne and one from Dean. Steve was probably going to deliver his lecture now. Lynn decided to take over the conversation and steer it in the right direction before that could happen.

"So, um… Maria's been telling me about my mom," she said, forcing brightness into her voice. Judging by the looks she received from all four of the other hunters, they weren't buying it. "And stuff about their family. And, uh… voodoo things."

Both Winchester boys lifted their eyebrows at her. Sam tried to hide a smile. "Voodoo things?" he repeated.

Lynn tossed her hair and attempted to stare him down. "Yep."

Jayne stared at her, unimpressed. She swallowed and glanced over at Steve. He was shaking his head, eyes closed, and as she watched him, he ran a hand over his head. "So," he sighed. "What kind of 'voodoo things' were you talking about?"

"Just… stuff about Legba and Kalfu," Lynn replied.

Sam frowned, looking interested. "Really? What kind of stuff?"

"Just… stuff," Lynn stuttered, because when she really thought about it, Maria hadn't given her a whole lot of new information. "I was actually about to ask her what she thought was going on in my mother's old apartment. She told me ever since my mother fell, the place hasn't been the same."

She turned to Maria, who looked up from the table and met her gaze with unreadable eyes. "So," Lynn said, trying to force another smile. "You said that whatever's up there had been hiding pretty well and you can't be sure what it is, but… what do you _think_ is up there?"

Her aunt shook her head and looked sadly at the table top. "I can't be sure," she repeated. "I think it's a _baka_ – an evil spirit."

"Gee, be more generic," Steve grumbled under his breath, and Lynn responded by stomping on his foot. "Ow! Hey!"

"No, he's right," Sam interjected, peering interestedly at the older woman, and if he'd been closer Lynn might have succumbed to the urge to stomp on his foot as well. "_Baka_ is a generic term for an evil spirit. Do you know what sort of spirit we're dealing with here? Who it might be?"

Again, Maria shook her head, staring down at her tea. "I've tried to communicate with it," she murmured softly. "In the beginning, I was worried it might be my sister. But I gave her the hunter's funeral Russ told us about – salted and burned her bones, and then burned anything her spirit might have been attached to. I don't believe it's her anymore."

She sipped her tea, blinking rapidly, and then cleared her throat. "Then I thought it might be Kalfu," she went on hoarsely. "Maybe he'd stuck around the apartment. Carving the veve into the floor _could_ have that effect. But I tried to reach out to him too; I tried closing the gates. Nothing happened. I don't think he's up there either."

"Then what _is_ up there?" Lynn asked softly, frowning.

Maria shook her head again. "That's what I'm not sure about. I thought, for a while, that all Inez's communications with Kalfu could have brought over more spirits – darker spirits - who then refused to leave. I turned to some of my mother's hoodoo rituals, and thought maybe I could cleanse the building, but… I need help with that."

"Hoodoo," Sam repeated skeptically. Lynn looked at him, frowning again. "I thought your family practiced voodoo."

"What's the difference?" Dean asked rudely. Lynn shot him a glare, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Hoodoo is like folk magic," Sam explained. "It originated in the Deep South. But voodoo has roots in West African tribal beliefs, and it's more of a religion than a collection of folk rituals."

"That's true," Maria said, lifting her eyebrows at Sam as though she suddenly found him quite impressive. "You've done your research."

Sam colored at that, ducking his head. Lynn smiled, feeling unaccountably proud of him. Maria kept going. "As I was telling Lynnette before you all… invited yourselves in… my mother raised Inez and I in New Orleans."

"Where voodoo and hoodoo are both frequently practiced," Sam murmured, nodding.

Maria smiled. "Yes. My mother," she explained. "Belonged to no one set of beliefs. She did not limit herself. She studied the ways of the _manbo_ in Vodou, but never took up the _ason_. When we lived in New Orleans, she soaked up the teachings of a _bokor_ and then she learned as many hoodoo practices as she could. She told us that the more we knew, the better we could protect ourselves. Learn every ritual you stumble across because you never know when you might need it." Here, Maria sniffed derisively. "Inez and I lived that lesson to the letter, but I see Russ never imparted it to you."

Lynn felt small and ignorant under the too wise, seemingly all-knowing eyes of her aunt. She squirmed and blinked furiously, folding her arms too tightly over her torso.

"Russ taught us something else," Jayne spoke up, a hard edge to her voice. "You mess with something dark, and it's probably going come back to bite you in the ass. Guess your sister learned that one the hard way."

Maria turned flashing angry eyes on her, but Jayne just stared her down, eyes unblinking, lips tight, and face impenetrable. Lynn's own temper flared at the hard, mean little comment.

"Jaynie," she practically spat, tugging on her sleeve in hopes of breaking up the stare-down between Jayne and Maria. Temporarily, she succeeded. "That's my mom you're talking about," she pointed out.

"Yeah," Jayne retorted. "And that's your dad _she's _talking about."

Lynn honestly could not deal with her sister at that moment. Lately, Jayne was the first one to call out Russ for what he was; obsessed, secretive, and controlling. A drill sergeant of a man who forced his children into hunting, instilled in them an obligation to revenge, and then had the audacity to die without telling them any of the _many_ things they needed to know.

But heaven forbid anyone else dare speak against the man. Then the old Jayne came back with a vengeance, defending the man against any insult or criticism, particularly the true ones.

Lynn glared at her sister with her arms still folded over her chest, and then tilted her chin high. "Can we _not_?" she demanded.

Jayne shrugged, averted her eyes, and leaned moodily against the kitchen wall.

"Can we just…?" Lynn took a deep breath, cutting herself off and started again in a calmer voice. "Let's just get back on the apartment. How do we cleanse it?"

"With crystals and positive thinking," Steve mocked from the doorway, leaning jauntily on the frame.

"Shut up, you jackass!" Lynn snapped.

Maria rolled her eyes. "Crystals are hog shit," she announced, tossing her hair. "We need devil's shoestring, salt, candles… and that's just to start."

"What, no eye of newt?" Steve quipped.

Lynn kicked him.

"Ow!"

"No eye of newt," Maria confirmed, glaring at Steve with a hard, proud eye. "This isn't _Sabrina_."

Steve held up his hands in surrender and took a step back. Lynn shook her head at her brother and turned to Maria.

"You can get all this stuff?" she asked. "And help us stop whatever's in that apartment?"

Maria gave her a soft, encouraging smile. "I'm certainly going to try."

Lynn couldn't help but smile back. Maria sobered and addressed them all. "I'll meet you at the apartment tomorrow morning," she said. "Ten a.m. sharp."

"We'll be there," Lynn agreed.

She tried to ignore the tense shuffling and hard-eyed expressions of her companions. It was unspoken, but understood nonetheless, that nobody else in the room wanted to meet Maria Rodriguez anywhere, let alone tomorrow morning in a haunted apartment at 10 sharp.

Still, Lynn knew they would do it anyway.

* * *

><p>Jayne wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow she, Lynn and Steve were sharing their tiny motel room with Sam and Dean. It was inarguably the worst idea ever.<p>

"I don't see the big deal," Lynn was arguing in favor of the plan, even as Jayne silently denounced it. "There are two beds and a fold-out couch. We can make it work."

"Sure," Sam said too brightly. There was sarcasm lurking around the corners of his tone. "The five of us, in a tiny enclosed space, for the _whole _night…"

"Sounds like a recipe for murder-suicide if you ask me," Dean drawled.

"Well, the motel's all booked up now," Lynn retorted snottily. "You two waited too long to get your own room. So either lump it here, or get in the car and find another motel."

Neither Dean nor Sam had an answer to that. Jayne, seated at the small table under the window, leaned her elbow on the tabletop and put her face in her hand, massaging her temple with her fingers. The two of them should definitely get in their car and find another motel.

"What the hell?" Dean finally said, shrugging. "Guess we're lumping it."

Jayne grimaced. Steve rolled his eyes, groaning, and flopped dramatically on one of the two beds. "Great," he complained, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Awesome. Loving it."

"Shut up, Steve," Lynn snapped.

Sam looked confused, but he didn't argue with his brother. "Ok…" he murmured slowly. "Um… why not?"

"Exactly," Dean returned too quickly, his eyes determined. "Why not?"

He glared at everyone, like he was daring them to argue with him. Nobody did. Seemingly satisfied, he tossed his brother the car keys and sprawled unceremoniously on the couch. "Go get the bags," he ordered.

Sam scoffed. "Me? You go get the bags!"

"One-two-three… not it."

Again, Sam scoffed, widening his eyes indignantly. "Are you eight?"

"Come on, Sam. Don't be a sore loser."

Sam heaved one final, exasperated huff, before stalking out the door. "I can't believe this," he grumbled as he stepped out into the hallway and let the door fall shut behind him.

Dean snickered, grabbed the remote off the arm of the couch, and turned on the TV.

"Super mature," Lynn said sarcastically.

He smirked and started channel surfing. Jayne rolled her eyes and slumped down farther in her chair.

"Just remember," Lynn went on, like a mother scolding a child. "We have to get to that apartment tomorrow at ten. So… no fist fights in here or anything like that. Whatever ridiculous, machismo thing you're contemplating… un-contemplate it. Like _now_."

"I'm not contemplating a thing," Dean returned easily.

Jayne knew a lie when she heard one come out of Dean's mouth. She chose not to call him on it.

"Speaking of tomorrow," Steve suddenly cut in, sitting up straight on the bed. "We've got to talk about this Maria chick."

Lynn glared at him. "She's not a chick; she's my aunt."

Steve rolled his eyes. "So _she_ says."

"It's her," Lynn retorted. "She looks just like my mother. How is she going to fake that?"

"Through the modern marvels of plastic surgery."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Ok, maybe I am," Steve conceded. "Look, I buy that she's your aunt. What I don't buy is that she's some goody-two-shoes hoodoo queen who just wants to help. If she's really your aunt, and she's really been worried about you, and she's really been side-eyeing Dad's parenting skills… where the hell has she been for the past twenty-four years?"

"She practices voodoo," Lynn corrected him, her face flushing hot. "It's not the same thing. And anyway, have you forgotten who our dad was? You think Dad couldn't make us disappear? Because it seems to me he did it quite a lot."

Steve looked down at the bedspread, seemingly chastised. Jayne had to admit that Lynn made a good point. If Russ wanted to hide from Maria, he could; no questions about it. The only question was why.

"I think you're missing a piece of the puzzle here," she spoke up in a low, steady voice. Lynn turned her glare on Jayne instead, but Jayne ignored it and kept going. "Sure Russ could make us disappear. Sure he could hide from Maria. I want to know why, though. Why did Russ work so hard to keep her out of your life?"

"The same reason he worked so hard to keep so much important _shit_ a secret from us!" Lynn snapped. "He was a secretive asshole, who thought lying to us was a form of protecting us. Never mind that all the things we don't know keep trying to kill us!"

Jayne tried not to react. It was all true; it was nothing she hadn't thought herself on multiple occasions. If Lynn only knew the extent of the lies that Russ had told… if she only knew the secrets Jayne was keeping from her now…

But she didn't know, and she wouldn't. Not right now, anyway. Someday, sure. Jayne would tell her; really, she would. But not tonight, in this tiny crappy motel room in the heart of NYC while Lynn was struggling to come to terms with her mother's shady past.

"Look, you're not wrong," Jayne said. "But why did Russ want to protect us from Maria? Huh? Maybe she was in on it, Lynn. She can look back now and say she warned Inez not to practice that dark stuff she was messing with, but… how can we be sure Maria hasn't dabbled in it too?"

"So what if she has?" Lynn retorted. "People make mistakes. She wants to help us, and I think that's reasonable. Whatever's in that apartment, killing those girls… that thing hurt my _mother_, Jayne. Her _sister_. Of course she wants at it; who wouldn't?"

Jayne glared at the tabletop. "I don't know. Look, I'm not trying to say we can't trust her. I'm just putting it out there. Putting you on guard."

Lynn looked slightly mollified by that, but Jayne could tell she was still pissed. Her lips were pursed in a pout, and she was chewing the inside of her cheek. Her dark brows were drawn tightly together and she was glaring at the wall behind Jayne's chair.

"I _am_ saying we can't trust her," Steve spoke up then, ending any hope of reasoning with Lynn. "You always want to trust _everybody_. Give everyone the benefit of the doubt. First when you picked up these idiots in Colorado, and then those people at that Roadhouse out in Nebraska… and now this. This Maria person."

"My _aunt_," Lynn spat furiously. "And I don't trust _everybody_. Not all the time. But how the hell would you know, right? _You're_ never around!"

Steve looked slightly ashamed of himself, but Lynn kept right on yelling at him.

"I didn't trust Gordon Walker, and I didn't want to trust Sam's friendly vampires… And the people I did trust – well, hell, I made some good calls! All right? Are Sam and Dean not our friends? Were the Harvelles not potential allies? Name one person I trusted that I shouldn't have!"

"So you've got decent intuition," Steve grumbled. "What, you're infallible now? You can't be biased and make a bad call? I get it; she's your _aunt_. That's the point. Of course you want to trust her. That's why we're reminding you that maybe you shouldn't!"

His grumbling had evolved into shouting, and by the time he spit out the last few words, his voice was echoing around the motel room. Dean shut off the television, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes. Jayne watched him from her table in the corner as he tried to disconnect from the shouting match. She swallowed, turning her head away, and got to her feet.

"Steve's making some good points, Lynn," she said as gently as possible.

Lynn glared at her too. She quit glaring at Steve and glared at her instead. Jayne lifted her chin and stared her down. Lynn hated it when she stared her down.

Predictably, Lynn looked away and threw up her hands. "I'm not listening to this!" she exploded. "You two and your antisocial bullshit! If it were up to you two, we'd never trust anybody, and we'd have no friends! No _allies_! But I'm not like you, and I'm not going to be!"

She was marching towards her purse, sitting on the bed Steve wasn't currently occupying. Jayne watched in exasperation as Lynn swung the bag over her shoulder and produced a pack of cigarettes from its depths.

"Going out for a smoke?" Steve asked dryly.

"Shut up," Lynn snapped. "But, yes, actually, I am! I just need some time, ok? You two… look, maybe I hear you and maybe you're not _all_ full of crap, but… but it's _always_ this crap with you guys and this is _my aunt_, the only person left on my mother's side of the family, and… well, you two are being dicks!"

Then she stomped out of the hotel room and slammed the door behind her. Silence echoed in her wake. Jayne folded her arms defensively over her stomach and stared at the floor, while her brother exhaled harshly and flopped backwards on the bed again.

Dean got up as quietly as humanly possible and vanished into the bathroom.

More silence followed his departure. Jayne didn't move, and Steve was still sprawled out on the bed, once again covering his eyes. She unfolded her arms and mussed her hair with one hand, involuntarily leaning back against the table.

"Well, fuck this," Steve suddenly announced, springing up on his feet. Jayne followed him with her eyes. He made a beeline for the door, his car keys in his hand.

"Where the hell are you going?" she asked tiredly.

"Out," he returned shortly. "Bet I'm back before she is."

He smirked cheekily at her, and then bounced out the door. Jayne watched as the door swung shut behind him.

A few silent seconds ticked by. Jayne was chewing her lip and contemplating punching something when the bathroom door slowly creaked open and Dean poked his head out.

Jayne glared at him.

"You want to talk about that?" he asked her.

She snorted.

"Cool," he agreed. Then he smiled big at her. "Come see what I found!"

Jayne frowned at him. "In the bathroom?"

"Yeah!"

"Pass," she retorted, still frowning.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just come on!"

He vanished into the bathroom again, this time leaving the door ajar. As certain as she was that she'd regret going in there, Jayne rolled her eyes and hauled herself off the edge of the table. She shambled across the room, slowly pushed the door open the rest of the way, and took a hesitant step into the bathroom, looking about her suspiciously.

Dean was lounging by the large Jacuzzi tub, grinning like an idiot.

"Check it out," he said excitedly, flicking a switch. As Jayne watched in faint incredulity, the hot tub lit up in neon colors, flashing along the pulsating Jacuzzi jets. Dean looked up at her with a big dopey smile.

"It lights up," he announced, sounding like a kid set loose in a candy store.

Jayne cocked her eyebrow. "So… you discovered our bathtub doubles as a disco tech. That's… awesome."

"I know, right?" Dean replied excitedly, totally missing her sarcasm. His stupid grin turned into a suggestive smirk as he crossed the bathroom and inched into her personal space. Jayne took a step backwards, her back hitting the wall, as Dean leaned down into her face. "You know… I think you and I should take this thing for a spin," he said, winking.

Jayne blinked, stone-faced. "You want to have hot tub sex while my sister and our brothers are in the next room."

Dean rolled his eyes and took another step towards her. "Well, when you put it like that…"

"It sounds gross?"

He chuckled and closed the remaining few inches between them. "You forgot the part where Lynn stormed off to have a cigarette, your brother stormed off to do whatever the hell he does, and Sam's still out getting the luggage."

"Ooh. So we've got… maybe five whole minutes. Think we can even fill the tub in that time?"

"It wouldn't kill you to act a little bit excited about this."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. Jayne rolled her eyes. "Tell me what your deal is," she ordered.

Dean halted halfway to her mouth, the attempt to kiss her effectively thwarted. "My deal?" he repeated, frowning.

"Yeah, your deal. Sam doesn't want to stay here; that much is obvious. You and Steve fight like whores in a cathouse. Why crash here with us?"

"You don't want me here?" Dean asked, tilting his head playfully.

"I did not say that," she returned sharply, killing his attempt at lightness. "Don't dodge."

His hands fell away from her waist, and he sighed harshly. "Don't act like you can't figure it out on your own," he snapped. "You and Steve told Lynn off about her aunt less than five minutes ago. You think you're the only ones who feel that way?"

"So, what? You're going to sleep across the doorway tonight and protect us all from some skinny, middle-aged woman?"

"If that's what it takes."

Jayne found she didn't have a retort for that; not when he was standing so close to her and looking so determined, with his chin tilted up slightly, his jaw tight and grim, and his eyes boring unblinkingly into hers, daring her to say something smart. She didn't say anything. She shook her head, swallowed hard, and spun on her heel, marching out into the hotel room.

"Why are you pissed at me?" she heard him demand as he followed her out of the bathroom.

"I'm not," she replied, turning around to face him again. "I just… I don't want you to think… just because we're…"

She couldn't quite get the words out. Dean seemed to know what she was trying to say, because he leaned against the bathroom door and looked at the floor, folding his arms over his chest as he shook his head in annoyance.

"You can't act like this is something new," he told her. "Wanting to watch out for you… for Sam… for Lynn. This is pretty par for the course, Goldilocks."

She couldn't argue with that and yet she wanted to. It might not look different – it might not even _be_ different – but it felt different, and to her that was enough. Before she could say anything further on the subject, the door to the room swung open and Steve reentered with a case of beer under his arm.

Honestly, she was surprised to see him. That alone was enough to piss her off all over again. Steve just stood in the doorway and frowned, looking from Jayne to Dean and back again. Even to him, the tension was obvious.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

"No," Jayne dismissed him, even as Dean snapped, "Yes!"

Steve blinked, slowly shut the door, and whistled low, shaking his head. "Everyone and their issues today," he muttered, crossing to the table under the window and putting down his case of beer. "So, anyway… I'm going to get wasted and watch the home shopping channel. Any takers?"

"Seriously?" Dean asked. "The home shopping channel?"

"Best reality programming on TV, man."

"We're watching something else," Jayne informed him. "But you can get as wasted as you like."

"Sounds like a deal."

Steve ripped open the cardboard box, grabbed a beer, and flopped down on the bed. Then he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Jayne stared at him a moment, her arms folded tightly over her chest. Then she exhaled harshly through her nose and turned abruptly away from her brother, stealing one of his beers.

"You're welcome," Steve snarked as she marched past him and flopped down on the couch.

"Bite me," she grumbled.

"You can have one, Winchester," Steve announced, mockingly magnanimous. "Why not? We all got to find a way to deal with this little sleepover, right?"

"Shut up," Dean retorted, but he took Steve up on his offer and grabbed a beer of his own. Then he sat down in a chair by the window and propped his feet up on the corner table, glaring sullenly at the TV he could barely see.

The three of them sat in uncomfortable, sulky silence, staring at the television without seeing it, for the remainder of the night.

* * *

><p>Sam was still grumbling under his breath and glaring at everything that happened to be in front of him when he finally reached his brother's car, parked along the street nearby their motel room window. He jerked the key too hard in the lock and threw open the trunk with unnecessary force. Then he grabbed the bags from inside and slammed the trunk shut, knowing it would have pissed Dean off and gleaning a little too much satisfaction from the knowledge.<p>

He turned back towards the motel and stopped short. Leaning up against the wall, by the corner of the building, was Lynn. She was smoking a cigarette.

Sam drew near her against his better judgment, crossing the street at a jog to avoid oncoming traffic, and making a beeline for her leaning space. Lynn looked up at his approach and raised an eyebrow, puffing out a deliberate stream of smoke in his direction.

He forced a smile and tried not to cough. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she returned.

She took another drag on the cigarette and stared complacently out at the busy street. Sam frowned at his sneakers, dropped the bags on the sidewalk, and leaned against the wall beside her.

"Is everything ok?" he asked, directing his gaze at her.

Lynn shrugged, knocking her head back against the wall. "I don't know. I mean…"

She trailed off helplessly and shrugged again. Sam nodded, returning to examining his sneakers. "Yeah," he agreed, without really understanding what he was agreeing to. "I could see… it's got to be difficult, all this stuff with your mom and… just knowing that she _was_ involved in something dark…"

"It's more about Jayne and Steve," she interrupted him, and Sam couldn't help blinking in surprise. "I mean… look, don't get me wrong, I totally thought it was weird when Maria popped out the woodwork earlier, but… I kind of warmed up to her, I guess?"

She turned dark, searching eyes on him, and Sam found himself nodding, swallowing. "Sure," he forced out.

Lynn looked away. "Anyway… she's my aunt, and she hasn't done anything super creepy or raised any red flags, and… I don't know. I want to get to know her. I want to hear what she has to say about my mom. And she's going to help us with whatever's in that old apartment, so she can't be all bad. Right?"

Sam blinked and swallowed again. "Right."

He wasn't sure why he bothered, because Lynn didn't seem to notice whether he responded or not. "So… I understand that I need to be cautious because aunt or not, we don't really know her and she might have been tied up in some shady shit. But I think we should give her the benefit of the doubt. Besides… I just _hate_ the way Jayne and Steve get all closed off and super distrustful and… it wouldn't kill them to trust a person at least halfway, you know?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"I mean… I guess in some situations it might kill them. I don't know; it was a bad turn of phrase. My point still stands. They can't just label every person we meet who might be willing to help us as potentially evil right off the bat."

Sam nodded again, his eyes widening slightly as he tried to take in what Lynn was saying and maintain the posture of a sympathetic listener. "No."

"Especially not people related to me!"

She huffed and took a long drag on her quickly dwindling cigarette, smoking it down to the filter. Sam watched warily as she tossed the butt on the sidewalk and ground it under the toe of her boot.

"Didn't you say you quit smoking?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Shut up! I'm stressed."

Sam lifted his hands in surrender and shut up.

Lynn ruffled her wavy black hair with her hand, sagging slightly against the motel wall. "Sorry. I don't know… I just needed to vent a little, I guess. Like I said, I get why Jayne and Steve are being hesitant and suspicious and whatever, but… it still makes me mad sometimes."

Sam nodded. "No, I… I get that."

He did get it, in a way. Lynn sighed, mussing her hair again, and stared at the building across the street. The two of them stood on the side of the street in silence for several long moments.

Then Lynn shoved herself off the wall and tossed her hair, inhaling sharply through her nose. "Ok, I'm good," she announced. "We can go in now."

She walked away before he could respond, headed straight for the motel entrance. Sam frowned after her, stooping slightly to pick up the bags he'd abandoned on the pavement. Lynn was inside long before he started walking after her.

If there was one thing he was starting to doubt, here in Brooklyn, it was Lynn being 'good.'

* * *

><p>Dean parked the Impala against the curb just outside Mr. Chen's rundown apartment building. Steve's car was just behind his, as the kid had refused to ride along with the rest of them. His sisters were in the Impala with him and Sam, however, and Dean hadn't missed the way Lynn had jumped into the passenger seat beside him when they'd first left the motel. She'd spoken no more than necessary to her brother and sister since their argument the night before, and it seemed like she wasn't planning on forgiving them any time soon.<p>

Normally, he wouldn't bother worrying about some stupid squabble between the siblings that really had nothing to do with him, but this time was different. Dean couldn't help viewing Maria Rodriguez with suspicion. Jayne and Steve were right about her; they shouldn't trust her right out the gate with no real reason.

The four of them clambered out of the Impala and onto the dusty, empty sidewalk. A car door slammed, and Dean looked at Steve's bright orange monstrosity, finding him also stepping onto the curb and peering suspiciously all around him. This particular street looked like a ghost town, devoid of traffic and pedestrians, with abandoned empty storefronts occasionally graced with a broken window. Dean made a face at their surroundings, which only seemed emptier and spookier with the traffic from the rest of the city echoing in the background.

Maria was standing on the front stoop of Mr. Chen's apartment building, waiting for them. Dean made a face at her too. She was wearing another long, swishy skirt, with her graying black hair twisted up on top of her head, and her age-lined, heavily tanned face arranged in a calm, impassive expression. The way she surveyed them as they approached her was just short of eerie, and unsettlingly royal.

Lynn took the lead, bouncing right up to her aunt with one of her big, bright, overly friendly smiles that Dean could never quite be sure were genuine. "Good morning," she greeted her. "Do you have everything you need?"

Maria smiled back, looking surprisingly soft and _fond_. "Yes," she assured Lynn. "I'm glad you made it."

Lynn shrugged, still grinning. "Wouldn't miss it."

Dean grimaced, but neither Lynn nor her aunt seemed to notice. Maria turned and entered the building, holding open the door for the rest of them. "I've already cleared our time here with the landlord," she explained as Lynn and Sam filed in after her. "He was… difficult, but… I persuaded him in the end."

The offhand comment somehow sent a shiver down his spine. Dean raised an eyebrow, grimacing, and stopped walking before he'd even reached the front stoop. His eyes traveled up, towards the ominously looming top floor window in Inez Rodriguez's old apartment.

"Everyone in!" Maria commanded cheerfully. Dean took a step backwards. When Jayne brushed past him, he instinctively grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stop.

Her response was predictable. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded insensitively, glaring at him.

"We'll meet you up there," he called at the others, ignoring the question. Maria didn't seem to notice or care, but Sam frowned at him, confused, while Lynn rolled her eyes in annoyance before stomping towards the staircase.

He dragged Jayne back towards the car, feeling rather than seeing her irritation. When they reached the Impala, she snatched her arm back from him.

"What?" she demanded again.

"I don't know if we should be doing this," he retorted. "We don't know what sort of ritual this woman wants to do. It could be weird, or… not what she says it is…"

"Sam said it was ok," Jayne reminded him. "He looked up the ingredients, matched it all to a relatively normal, non-black magic-y ritual… I think we're good."

Dean knew she was right, but he didn't feel like being rational at the moment. Jayne seemed to think the conversation was over and she turned away from him, marching towards the building again.

"Well, if you think that's good enough," he said with mock carelessness. "I thought you were worried about your sister, but…"

Jayne stopped two steps away from the car. Dean leaned on the hood of the Impala, balancing his elbow on the side mirror, and stared intently at her back. Her shoulders were tense and stiff, and somehow it made her seem even taller than she already was.

She turned around and glared at him. "Look, I don't know what to think," she told him harshly. "But we're here, and Maria's helping, and Lynn is happy. For the first time since Steve showed up in Stamping Ground with Sophie Delgato's obit, Lynn is acting like Lynn. So, yeah, I think the whole thing is weird and I'm on the fence about trusting it. But if Lynn is happy, then I'm going to let her be happy until I have real, solid evidence that something here is sour. Ok?"

It was hard to argue with her when her mind was made up. It was hard to argue with anything she'd said on principle, actually. But it was just as hard to stand by idly, silently, and wait for the chips to fall, especially when he was positive that the chips weren't going to land anywhere good.

He shrugged and leaned further back on his car. "I'm not saying I don't see that," he replied. "I'm not saying I don't want Lynn to have this. Maybe I'm wrong; maybe there's nothing fishy here. Maybe Maria's just a lonely old woman with good intentions who wants to get to know her niece. I don't know. But if something _is_ off here… I don't want to trust your sister with some random, creepy hoodoo woman she picked up off the street. I don't want to trust any of us with…"

"You don't want Lynn to get hurt," Jayne interrupted. "Yeah, I don't either. She's _my_ sister."

"I know she's your sister," he snapped. "That doesn't give you a monopoly on caring about what happens to her. And it's not just Lynn I'm worried about here. Sam's already too interested in this crap, and you…"

He trailed off and swallowed. Trying to shrug and look unaffected, he looked away and folded his arms over his chest. Jayne narrowed her eyes and took a few steps closer, stopping mere inches away from him.

"I get it; you're worried," she said. "You want to be worried about something, fine, but cross me off the list. I'm fine. Sam? He's fine too. He's got his head on, and he's not going to do something stupid. You want to worry about Lynn? Be my guest; I'm worried too. But we're all here with her, and if this shit goes south, we'll be around to get her out. I don't know; I'm suspicious too. But maybe Maria's telling the truth, Dean. Inez Rodriguez was Lynn's mother, but she was also Maria's sister. If I was Maria, I'd want to stop this thing too."

Dean glared at the cement under his boots and tightened his arms over his chest. "I'm going in," she announced, and then she turned away and made for the door once more. She didn't slow or turn around or wait for him, and Dean didn't call after her this time.

He heard the scuff of motorcycle boots on the curb and turned his head to see Steve sidling up to the Impala with his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his black jeans. He bristled, slightly embarrassed as he realized belatedly that the kid hadn't gone inside with the rest of them and had been privy to that entire conversation.

"What do you want?" he snapped at the younger, shorter man.

Steve drew half his mouth up into a smirk that looked like a snarl. "I want to punch you in the face," he replied, with more sincerity than Dean had thought him capable.

There was a long tense silence. Steve spent it with his mouth crooked, still wearing that nasty snarling smirk, as he appraised Dean like they were standing across one another in a boxing ring. Dean glared at him, still leaning on the car. Finally, he lifted his eyebrow and gave Steve a smirk of his own.

"You want to punch me in the face?" he asked. "Go right ahead. Give me a reason."

Steve took a small step forward, his thumbs releasing his belt loops, and he folded his arms confrontationally over his torso. "My sister is getting a little too invested in your ass," he announced, and Dean nearly lost his hold on his smirk. "And I don't think I like it."

Against sense and reason, Dean delivered another smirk, this one meaner and even more provoking. "Which one?" he asked.

He knew exactly which one.

Steve knew he knew it too. "Now you see," the kid said, moving his head from side to side as he sneered appraisingly at Dean. "I am ninety percent certain that you're all bluster right now. That you're just pretending not to know what I'm talking about so you can still look cool and tough or whatever. But if that was a legit question, it just goes to prove the point I've been trying to make all along."

"And what's that?"

"You're not good enough for her."

Silence followed the kid's declaration. Dean stared at Steve for a long moment, no smirk on his face at all. He didn't have an answer, and Steve looked triumphant over his silence. The triumph made Dean itch to plant a right hook on the kid's smug, sneering mouth.

Steve looked down at his boots, losing the sneer. He screwed up his face, squinting against the sun, and looked Dean in the eye again. "Look, I'm a realist," he admitted. "Jaynie's no princess. She's rude, she's insensitive, she's antisocial… getting her to say 'thank you,' or 'I'm sorry,' is like trying to pull teeth." Steve chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "Hell, forget 'thank you,' and 'I'm sorry' – she thinks if she just grunts at you after everything you say, that counts as a conversation."

Dean couldn't argue with that, even though he kind of wanted to. When it came to Steve Juarez, the points either of them made were unimportant. They fought for the sake of fighting.

Steve swallowed and got serious. "She's stubborn, she's reckless, and she's every bit as commitment-phobic as I'm betting you are," he went on. "I can't even tell you she has a string of failed relationships a mile long, because she doesn't _have_ relationships. She's a pain in the ass. But she's also my sister, and I love her, and I persist in believing that she is quite the catch, and if you fuck with her feelings, pretty boy, I'm going to fuck up your face."

Grudgingly, Dean respected that. He stared at Steve silently, trying to hold onto something resembling a smirk or a sneer, because he had no interest in developing grudging respect for the little asshole. He wanted to punch him, and he wanted to keep wanting that. But the urge to slug the kid was passing, and Dean's fist didn't even twitch when Steve delivered one last sneer and then swaggered off into the apartment building.

Pissed off and on edge, Dean shoved himself off the hood of the Impala and followed Steve inside. The kid was already climbing the stairs to the fourth floor when Dean got through the door, and everyone else was already gone.

It was creepy in there. Still too dark and cramped, with dust and cobwebs accumulating in the corners. Dean jogged up the creaking, dimly lit and narrow stairs, all the way to the long, thin, dingy but considerably brighter fourth floor hallway. The door to Inez Rodriguez's old apartment was wide open, and Steve was sidling inside. Everyone else must have already been within.

Dean entered the apartment and tugged the door shut softly behind him. Maria was at the island that separated the kitchen from the living room space, pulling things from her large, bag-lady purse. She set canisters of strange colored powders and short branches of herbs on the countertop, and then several self-supporting candle sticks.

"What are we using all this for?" Lynn asked with genuine curiosity, across the island from Maria and leaning forward on the counter.

Maria smiled at her. "We burn the herbs," she explained. "And we call on the loa to protect and purify this place."

Steve snorted audibly from the dark corner he was lounging in. Lynn glared at him over her shoulder, and Steve fell silent, although Dean definitely caught him rolling his eyes. Maria handed some candles to Lynn, and pulled a long lighter out of her Mary Poppins carpet bag. Sam danced over to the counter too, looking interested. Maria gave him a dark look, and Sam took a step back immediately.

Dean leaned against the door and frowned at the two women hovering by the island. He glanced over at the large window on the other end of the room and found Jayne standing there, too tall and too tense, with her arms folded over her chest and her hard eyes directed at Maria.

Good to know he wasn't the only one with heebie-jeebies.

Maria instructed Lynn on where to place the candles and how to mix the herbs. She spoke little or nothing to the other four people in the room. She did not hand them candles, and she did not ask them to play with the herbs. Dean shifted uncomfortably by the door.

When the candles were lit and scattered around the apartment, and the herbs had been mixed to Maria's specifications, she had Lynn help her place the mixed herbs around the apartment where she thought they would have the most power. Then she went around with her lighter and held it to the herbs until they started to smoke.

It felt like the ritual was half hocus-pocus scam work, and the other half was creepy, spooky cinematic witchcraft. "We won't be summoning any spirits, you understand," Maria explained as she finished lighting the herbs. "That's an entirely different type of ritual, and it won't do us any good here. What we're doing here is casting any lingering spirits _out_. The smoke from these herbs is poisonous to evil-minded entities."

Dean choked slightly on the overwhelming fumes from the herbs. Maria's slim, short, calloused fingers closed over Lynn's wrist. She wandered to each smoking pile of herbs, muttering a few words in another language over each heap of embers, taking Lynn with her. Lynn looked half interested, and half freaked out. Dean knew, as curious as Lynn was about her family, that she couldn't really be enjoying any of this. He'd never spoken to her face-to-face on the subject, but he'd overheard her scream her feelings about her mother's questionable past at Jayne, Steve or Sam more times than he wanted to admit.

The ritual didn't take much time. Sooner than expected, Maria was putting out the candles and packing them back in her bag. She left the herbs, saying they needed to burn out in the apartment and stay there for as long as possible. Feeling oddly unsettled and dissatisfied, Dean watched as Maria exited the apartment with Lynn at her heels. Sam ducked out after them, and then Steve pushed past Dean roughly, following the other three into the hall.

Dean caught Jayne's eye as she crossed the apartment. They stepped into the hall and Dean shut the door behind him before falling into step beside her.

"You really think that worked?" he asked in a low voice as they took up the rear, following the others down the four flights of stairs.

Jayne shrugged. "I don't know," she murmured. "Seemed legit. It was kind of like that ritual we did in Lawrence, with Missouri…"

"Yeah, that ritual didn't take either," Dean interrupted sourly.

She swallowed down whatever she'd been thinking about saying and ducked her head slightly. "We'll stick around awhile," she told him. "Keep an eye on the place."

"Take a good long look into Aunt Maria."

Jayne gave him a warning look. "That too," she said carefully.

They hit the ground floor and exited single file through the front door, out of the dingy, dim corridor and into the bright sunlight. The other four were nearly to the curb now, several feet ahead of them. No sooner had Dean and Jayne stepped off the front stoop, when a loud, high, toe-curling shriek echoed through the deserted, dusty street.

He looked up. The shadow blotted out the sun. Dean staggered backwards, his arm in front of Jayne, pushing her back with him. The heavy body hit the cement with a loud, sickening, squelching _thump!_

The other four, already at the curb, whirled around at the sound. Lynn gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth. Steve, shocked, took several steps backwards and nearly fell into his Superbird, while Sam stood stock still, frozen to the spot. Lynn stumbled into him, blinking furiously, and Sam caught her on reflex.

Maria stood straight and still, staring with wide brown eyes at the body on the sidewalk. She looked calm – too calm. Then her dark eyes rolled backwards into her head and she slumped to the sidewalk in a dead faint.

Lynn cried out, pulling away from Sam to get to the other woman, and nearly collapsed on the ground beside her.

Dean hadn't realized how little he'd moved for just how long until Jayne gently pushed his arm out of the way. She stalked purposefully to the body on the sidewalk. The woman was petite, with wavy black hair fanned out over her skull. She was face down in the cement, and a nauseating red stain was starting to spread on the sidewalk around her.

Jayne squatted beside the woman and pressed two fingers into her neck. Only a few tense, silent seconds passed, but they felt like hours. Finally, she shook her head and slowly stood back up.

"She's dead," Jayne announced evenly.

Lynn sniffled, on her knees beside Maria. The other woman was still out cold. Sam climbed down onto the pavement to help them both, while Steve cussed loudly and yanked his cell phone out of his pocket. The kid dialed 9-1-1 as Dean stared in shock and silence at the latest dead body. He hadn't expected another woman to fall so soon after the ritual, and he _definitely _hadn't expected her to nearly land on top of them.

The death itself didn't surprise Dean at all.

* * *

><p>Lynn couldn't quite get her bearings. The sounds of sirens echoed in her ears. Flashing lights were still visible in her peripheral vision, but she was having a hard time making sense of them. There was a herd of EMTs around the body, but she wasn't sure why. The body was being wrapped in a long black body bag, and the bag was being loaded into the city coroner's truck. The EMTS seemed unnecessary.<p>

It also seemed incessantly harsh, the way the bright sunlight beat mercilessly down on the scene in front of her. She sat numbly on the curb with her back turned to the building and the crime scene, and focused on the ambulance parked across the street. Her aunt was sitting in the back of it, feet dangling out over the street, as a paramedic tended to the slight cut on her forehead. Maria was nursing a small concussion from hitting the pavement earlier.

A pair of scuffed sneakers appeared beside her on the curb. Lynn glanced at them out the corner of her eye, but didn't look up at their owner. "I'm fine, Sam," she said, sounding weary and annoyed.

He sat down next to her. "Where's everyone else?" she asked.

"Steve and Jayne are talking to the cops," Sam told her. "Dean's looking for the landlord."

She nodded. "I should check on Maria," she murmured.

Even though she couldn't see Sam (she was refusing to look at him) she could feel the way he hesitated at her aunt's name. Lynn sighed and fisted her hands in her hair. "Just say it," she grumbled. "Everyone else is going to say it; you might as well get your shots in now."

"I just…" Sam hesitated again. "After everything everyone's been saying… and then the ritual not working…"

"She wasn't sure it would," Lynn reminded him. "She's been pretty upfront with us on the not knowing what's up there bit."

"Right," Sam said slowly. "Just… I think we need to be careful, is all."

Lynn exhaled harshly, blowing her hair out of her eyes. "Ok," she muttered.

There was a long silence. Lynn pushed herself to her feet and brushed dirt off her jeans. "All right, well… glad we had this talk," she quipped. Then she marched purposefully across the street, where her aunt was waiting.

The paramedic was poking around in the cab of the ambulance when Lynn reached the back of the vehicle. Maria looked up at her approach, greeting her with a soft, small, slightly embarrassed smile. "Hey," Lynn said, trying to force brightness into her own grin. "Holding up ok?"

"I'll be fine," Maria assured her, ducking her head. "I just… don't deal with blood very well."

Lynn frowned. "So the chicken feet…"

Maria frowned back. "They're just chicken feet."

Several long seconds of silent frowning ensued. Finally, Lynn gave up and shrugged. "Well, all right then," she changed the subject. "Uh… obviously the ritual didn't take…"

Maria nodded. "Obviously not."

"So… what now?" Lynn asked. "I mean, if it's not a spirit…"

"It could still be a spirit," Maria informed her. "But depending on how strong it is… that ritual might not have been enough to stop it. We might have to call on more powerful sources."

Lynn swallowed. "More powerful sources?"

"The old spirits. The loa," Maria explained. "Of course, it might not be a spirit at all. It could be a curse. Some bad conjuring."

"Why would someone curse this place?" Lynn asked.

Maria shook her head. "A personal vendetta… some other practitioner who didn't like how Inez's final moments went down…"

"Is that possible?"

"Yes. But not very likely, I'll admit."

Lynn shook her head. "There's got to be some way to be sure," she argued. "Can't we figure out what we're dealing with before we try and solve the problem?"

Maria gave her a small smile. It was the indulgent kind of smile that experts direct at overeager novices. "Most conjure work is process of elimination. You try this. If this doesn't work, you try that."

She almost argued with the older woman. She almost said that hunting was a much more exact science than conjure-work, and that if this were another job, far away from Maria and Brooklyn, they would figure out what they were up against before they tried stopping it. But the words died on her tongue, because they weren't actually true. Hunting through trial and error wasn't anything new for them – not really. Sometimes they got lucky and figured out what they were dealing with right off the bat. Sometimes their first guess was wrong.

"All right," she breathed. "So… if it was a curse instead of a spirit…"

"The only way to be sure," Maria interrupted. "Is to call on the spirits and _ask_."

The very idea of calling on any spirits at all was decidedly unsettling. Lynn couldn't imagine anything she wanted to do less. There was something very wrong with the whole idea, and she knew that if Jayne or Steve… or hell, even Sam or Dean… found out what Maria was suggesting, they would have very loud reasons why she should _not_ agree to it.

Before Lynn could say anything else, soft footsteps sounded behind her. Maria looked over Lynn's shoulder and her small smile faded. Lynn turned around to find Jayne approaching her, alone. Across the street, Sam and Dean were standing by the Impala, waiting for them and staring at them. Dean's eyes were hard and his arms were folded over his chest. Sam's hands were shoved in his pockets, and he looked uncomfortable.

Steve was leaning on the Bird, gaze averted, and demeanor sulky.

Jayne nodded at them in greeting, coming to a stop at Lynn's side. "Cops say her name was Lauren Small," she announced. "She lived in the front third floor apartment with her boyfriend. They're calling it another suicide."

"Boyfriend?" Lynn asked, pouncing on the new information. "All the other victims were loners."

Her sister shrugged. "Yeah, but she looks just like the others. We'll look into her some more, but… I'm betting it'll be like the other two. No red flags. Normal girl living in the city."

Jayne carefully did not say what Lynn already knew; Lauren Small and the other two women all looked like her mother. They looked like Lynn.

For a moment, the three of them didn't speak. They stood there in silence, while Lynn shifted uncomfortably between the other two women. Jayne eyed Maria suspiciously, which was no surprise to Lynn. What did surprise her – although it probably shouldn't have – was that Maria was beginning to regard Jayne with equal suspicion.

Great. Another family feud. Just what they needed.

"I don't know what you two are thinking about now," Jayne hedged, half awkward and half grumpy. "But… obviously whatever we did up there got us a big pile of nothing, so… I think Sam wants to research a little more. We can start there, and then regroup."

"I have some books," Maria spoke up. "A lot of family journals, from my mother. I can go over them, see if I can come up with any new ideas." She looked hopefully at Lynn. "An extra pair of eyes would be nice."

Lynn saw Jayne tense slightly. She shifted from one foot to another, trying to decide who to disappoint. Well, Maria was the only one who would _actually_ be disappointed. Jayne would just be pissed off.

Deep down, Lynn knew that spending so much time with Maria could lead to some serious heartache. As much as she wanted to trust the woman –as much as she even believed she _could_ trust the woman – that didn't make trusting her smart. Still, when Lynn looked at her aunt, even though she couldn't see _all_ the answers there, she saw hope that one day she was going to _get_ those answers. That was a hell of a lot more than she'd had before.

"I can help you," she volunteered. "Jayne? I'll go back with Maria, and the rest of you can do your thing. Call when you're done."

"Or you call when you're done," Jayne returned, and while Lynn didn't think she meant to be hostile, she sure sounded that way. "Ok, fine. Talk to you later."

She turned on her heel and walked back to their cars. Lynn winced slightly, but the damage was done. She'd made her choice, and the rest of them needed to stow their trust issues and deal.

"Cool," she said out loud, giving Maria a big, bright smile. "So… let's hit the books?"

Again, that indulgent smile tugged at Maria's lips. "Yes," she murmured. "Let's."

* * *

><p>The motel room was too hot and too quiet. Sam stood hovering over the small table by the window, wishing the stale city air seeping through the open sash was enough to cool the tense, sticky atmosphere. His carrying case was standing on the tabletop, laptop inside and ready to go, and he leaned the case against his stomach, his fingers tight and apprehensive on the smooth polyester. He wanted to go to the library and use the Wi-Fi… figure out once and for all what they were up against in Inez Rodriguez's old apartment. But no one was moving.<p>

Steve was lying face down on the bed nearest the window, not moving and not speaking. Dean had shed first his jacket, and then his over shirt, and was sitting on the couch again, with his legs sprawled out over the floor. He looked mostly bored, but faintly annoyed, with his elbow propped on the arm of the couch and his mouth covered by his fist.

Sam looked at Jayne. She was standing by the exit, and she looked every bit as ready to go as he was. But no one was moving, and Sam was getting irritated.

"We should really be doing more research," he announced. "Lynn's at Maria's, looking through the family notes, and we should be trying to get an outsider's perspective. At the _least _we should be digging through Lauren Small's past."

At that, Steve rolled over and sat up so quickly that Sam jumped, surprised. "Yeah, Lynn's at Maria's," he snapped. "That's kind of the problem, don't you think?"

Jayne shifted slightly by the door, folding her arms tightly over her chest. "I really don't want to keep having this conversation," she murmured, directing a hard-eyed, challenging glare at her brother. Steve looked sulky and out of sorts, and his mouth opened like he was going to argue. But he didn't argue; he just closed his mouth and flopped backwards on the mattress again.

Dean rubbed his forehead with his forefinger and thumb, hiding his eyes from the rest of the room. Sam watched his brother expectantly, waiting for him to toss out his own opinion on Lynn and Maria and the whole frustrating hunt in Brooklyn, but Dean remained uncharacteristically silent.

Maybe it was for the best. This wasn't about their family; it was about Jayne and Lynn and Steve, and all their dead parents and all the drama that came with it. It was about Maria Rodriguez and Inez Rodriguez and various forms of voodoo and root work and none of it was about the Winchesters.

But Sam had never been all that great at butting out, and to be perfectly honest, neither had Dean.

"So… look," he began awkwardly. "I get that we're all… on edge here, but… I think it's making us _more_ on edge doing nothing, so… let's _do _something."

"You want to go to the library again, Stanford?" Steve sniped. "Ain't nobody stopping you. Go."

Sam cringed at the newest nickname. He opened his mouth to retort, but Jayne beat him to the punch.

"Quit picking on him like it's his fault," she ordered. "All of us are concerned, and none of us know what to do about it. Just lay there and shut up."

Steve glared at her and then threw his arm over his eyes like Sam had seen him do before. Something about that gesture reminded him vividly of Lynn.

Jayne's phone buzzed in her jeans pocket then, and everyone stared at her with too much interest as she dug it out and checked the screen. "Lynn," she announced, reading what Sam assumed was a text. "She says she and Maria found another ritual in her mother's old journals, and they're going back to the apartment."

Her lip was caught between her teeth and she was glowering at the phone in her hand. She didn't look happy about the message, but neither did anyone else. Sam, too, felt his stomach shrinking inside him. It was an unpleasant falling sensation, and his insides seemed to want to leap up into his throat and out onto the motel room floor.

"_What_?" Steve exploded, sitting up again. "Are you _kidding_ me with this bullshit?"

Jayne shut her eyes, looking like she was nursing the world's biggest headache. Steve was up on his feet now, pacing and wildly throwing his arms around. "_Another_ ritual? Alone? Considering what _just _happened with the last one that old witch _just _tried…"

"Whoa," Sam intervened, frowning a little.

"What?" Steve snapped at him. "She _is_ an old witch. You telling me she's not?"

"Oh, she is," Dean drawled, finally joining the conversation as he pushed himself off the couch. "And I'll tell you what; I'm tired of sitting around and waiting on this one. We've got no idea what we're up against, and even if Maria isn't involved? Looks to me like she's got no idea either."

"For once, I agree with you," Steve spat. Sam closed his eyes, screwing up his nose. He felt a headache of his own coming on, and sympathized with Jayne.

"Well," Jayne grumbled by the door. "I guess Hell just froze over."

"I'm not sitting here doing nothing," Steve pressed, which Sam found incredibly ironic. He couldn't stop the disbelieving, scoffing laugh that escaped his lips.

"Really?" he bit out. "Because five minutes ago, I _tried_ to get you all moving, doing something to finish this job, and everyone ignored me!"

Steve delivered a scoff of his own. "Simmer down, High Horse."

Sam huffed indignantly. Somewhere, still close to the door, he heard Jayne heave a barely audible, tired sigh. "Look, we all want to be doing something right now," Sam retorted. "But we don't know what, because we don't know what we're hunting. We've got to poke into this a little more. Go back to the library or call someone who knows something about all this stuff."

"Yeah, I'll just get my local neighborhood voodoo priestess on speed dial," Steve quipped.

Sam glared at him, patience officially lost. "That's hilarious," he returned flatly. "But so far, you being a smartass hasn't solved anything!"

"I second that," Dean drawled. "You sure got a lot to say, but it's never anything useful."

"It's not like you two have had anything helpful to offer either," Steve snapped. "You know, I'm still not even sure why you're here, poking your noses into our family business!"

"That's enough!" Jayne hollered from the door. Sam jumped. Admittedly, he'd rather forgotten she was there. "Out of all of you! All you've done this whole time is fight like a pack of hungry dogs! I don't want to hear it anymore! If you can't say anything new, shut up!"

She turned her back on all of them and threw open the door. "Where the hell are you going?" Steve demanded.

"Out," she growled. Then she turned back around and glared at each of them. "I don't know what's going on in that apartment. I don't know if Maria's the bad guy. But I do know Lynn's with her, trying to figure it all out, and she needs some help. So I'm going to go help my sister. And the three of you? You can stay here and argue and trade insults all afternoon if you want. Go ahead and punch the shit out of each other for all I care. But I'm not sticking around to watch. Don't bother calling me or coming to find me until you three dumbasses can work together!"

She stepped out into the hallway and slammed the door behind her. The resulting _bang! _echoed all throughout the motel room. Sam flinched. He could hear her footsteps fading away as she stormed off down the hall. She reached the stairs, and then he couldn't hear her anymore. The silence that followed her exit suddenly filled the room, weighing down his shoulders and ringing in his ears.

"Great," Steve said, breaking the stillness. "Now look what you did."

Again, Sam huffed indignantly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "All _right_," he half shouted, half growled. "She's not wrong. We… we need to stop rehashing the same shit over and over again, and figure out what's really going on around here."

Sam trailed his fingers nervously over his laptop case again, itching to do a little more research. Dean glared at him and Steve, waiting for one of them to come up with a better idea than standing around and arguing.

Steve snapped his fingers and smirked. "Cracked it," he announced. "Maria's got Lynn going out to the apartment again, right?"

Sam shared a look with his brother. "Right…" he frowned.

"Then we should go to Maria's," Steve suggested, looking a little too smug for Sam's tastes. "Look around her place. See what's really up with her."

Sam frowned harder. "Look, I know none of you really trust Maria…"

"Oh, and you do?" Steve interrupted.

"I didn't say that," Sam retorted through gritted teeth. "I'm just saying, there are other possibilities beyond just blaming Maria. You know?"

"Well, that may be so," Steve shrugged carelessly. "But I am _sick_ of the fucking library!"

"You went once, and you stayed all of five minutes!" Sam exclaimed.

"And that was enough," Steve smirked again.

Sam glowered.

"I'm with the kid," Dean spoke up, earning him an open-mouthed, shocked glare from Sam. "We don't know when we'll get another chance, Sam! Even if Maria's clean, it'd be nice to know it for sure."

As annoyed as Sam was, he found he couldn't argue with that logic. "Fine," he sighed, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Whatever. Let's just… do it now, before Maria gets back."

"That's the spirit," Steve said, never losing his shit-eating smirk. He turned away from the brothers and swaggered towards the exit. Sam glared at the shorter man's back. He then redirected his glower at Dean, who merely shrugged and followed Steve out the door.

Sam rolled his eyes, but headed into the hallway just behind Dean. The other two headed for the stairs while Sam locked up. He shook his head in annoyance, but went after them anyway.

This wasn't going to end well.

* * *

><p>Lynn stood on the curb, as far away from the entrance to her mother's old apartment building as she could get without actually stepping into the street. Her hands were clenched into fists, one at her side and the other at her chest. She'd only clenched them to hide the shaking in her fingers.<p>

Maria was already at the door. For this second ritual, she had brought along an even larger carpet bag. It was almost as big as her. She stood on the front stoop, clutching her ridiculously huge bag, and frowned over her shoulder at Lynn. "Something wrong?" she asked.

The sinking sun cast awkward shadows across the older woman's face. Pink and red streaked across gathering gray clouds on the horizon. It had been a long day. The initial morning visit to the apartment hadn't taken long… but after Lauren Small had taken that fatal leap, they'd been tied up with the police for hours. By the time she and Maria had reached the older woman's home, it had been well into the afternoon. A few hours of fruitless searching through Marcella Rodriguez's old journals had led to nothing, and once Lynn had agreed to return to the apartment, it was evening.

"No," Lynn told her, managing to twist her lips into a tiny smile. "Nothing's wrong."

Maria smiled back softly, and tilted her head towards the door. "Well, then. Let's go."

Lynn inhaled sharply, cursing the shaking, shallow breaths she was taking. Her fist tightened at her chest. She forced herself to nod, and then she forced herself to move, taking slow, deliberate, agonizing steps across the sidewalk and towards the front door.

If only there hadn't been _nothing_. Her grandmother's journals had been full of rituals and folk tales and home remedies… amusing, usually useful anecdotes that shed no light on the current situation. Jayne's earlier text had confirmed what she'd already suspected; there was nothing in Lauren Small's life to explain the swan dive. And the safer, less spiritual, more Missouri-Mosley-hoodoo ritual had _not_ worked.

So she'd agreed to this. And this? This was terrifying.

Lynn stepped up onto the stoop, and Maria pushed open the door. The hallway inside was dark and gray with shadows from the setting sun. When the door shut behind her, Lynn jumped.

Maria still didn't seem to notice her discomfort. Lynn began to think her aunt _knew_ she was uncomfortable and was choosing to ignore it. The older woman brushed past her in the narrow hall, pausing just long enough to pat her shoulder reassuringly. Then Maria swept down the hallway and began to climb the creaking, tapered steps.

Lynn followed her at a distance, trying to work up the courage to go through with this.

"I know you're concerned," Maria announced, her voice echoing through the stairwell. Lynn jumped again, startled by the sudden address. "I know… I know Russ raised you to believe certain things. To protest against other things; things he didn't fully understand. I know that being raised outside of our family has led _you_ to not understand. It's all right to be frightened by the unknown."

"I'm not frightened," Lynn protested immediately, even though her shaking fingers told a different story. Maria glanced over her shoulder, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "Really, I'm not. I just… this isn't usually the kind of thing we do."

"We?"

"You know… me and Jayne. And Steve. And the Winchesters."

Maria snorted. "They _wouldn't_ do this sort of thing, I am sure of that already. Nothing could make them see these things in a new light. If there's one thing I've gotten good at spotting, it's a prejudice."

Lynn frowned, not liking her choice of words. "Is that what's bothering you?" Maria asked. "What they'll think of this? What your father might think of this?"

"I already know what he would think of this," she grumbled.

"Don't be so sure. Your father came to Brooklyn, a few short years before Inez passed. He was looking for a dark spirit, and he thought it had something to do with voodoo. He came to Inez because he thought she could help. She did a similar ritual to this one, looking for answers from the spirits."

Lynn stopped short in the middle of the stairs, her mouth falling open of its own accord. "What?" she exclaimed.

"Don't sound so surprised. Have you never relied on an old hoodoo spell or trick to stop a ghost or demon? Have you never borrowed a protection sigil from a pagan shaman? Or used symbols and spells from witchcraft?"

Lynn screwed up her face incredulously, opening her mouth and moving it around without speaking actual words. It took several seconds before she could even stutter. "I… I mean, maybe, but…"

Maria shrugged. "It's all the same, really. All forms of conjure-work, no matter what its roots, have helpful, practical sides as well as hurtful, dangerous sides. You just have to be careful."

Lynn tensed, blinking rapidly, and started walking up the stairs again with her shoulders squared and her eyes cast down. "Like my mother wasn't," she muttered.

This time, it was Maria who froze on the staircase. Lynn saw her shoulders tense, and then watched as they sagged noticeably. "Yes," she whispered. "Like your mother wasn't."

Maria started climbing again. They finished their walk in silence. Maria led the way up the remaining stairs, down the dusty, empty fourth floor hall, and through the unlocked door of Inez Rodriguez's old apartment.

Lynn cast her eyes around the shadowy main room. The setting sun was cutting through the large window, painting the blue wall lavender. Maria headed to the kitchen island again and sat her bag down with a _thump! _She gestured at Lynn to close the door.

She did as ordered, and moved silently into the living room. Maria began building an altar on the kitchen island, one that almost exactly resembled the Legba altar in the front hall of her town house. She loaded the countertop with candles, and then set out another dog skull, along with a gleaming red scarf. Maria leaned a cane – black with a shiny silver top – against the counter, rather than the crutch she'd placed in her apartment. Then she removed a tall, slender bottle of gin from the bottom of the bag, and set it amongst the candles.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Lynn couldn't help but ask.

Maria nodded. "It's a mere mounting ritual. Nothing to be concerned about."

"But what if it mounts _you_ and I have to ask it stuff?" Lynn demanded in a high-pitched voice. "I don't even know how to talk to a loa! And… _worse_, what if it mounts _me_?"

Her aunt gave her that indulgent smile again.

"I won't let it," Lynn insisted. "I'm sorry, I just… I have boundaries, ok?"

Maria laughed. Lynn blinked, frowning at her. She was slightly offended. "What is so funny?" she asked.

"You," Maria returned simply. "You're so… _green_."

Lynn huffed, her mouth hanging open and her frown etching itself deeper into her brow. She'd never been called green before in her life.

"Most likely the loa will mount me," Maria reassured her. "They prefer a _chwal_ who has taken up the _ason_. If that happens, all you have to do is speak clearly, concisely, and respectfully… but show no fear. If the loa asks for something, you give it."

"Seriously?" Lynn asked, unimpressed. "I just give it anything it wants? What if it wants to eat me? Or kill me? Or take my first born?"

Maria laughed again. Lynn huffed a second time. "I'm failing to find the humor here!"

Her aunt's eyes softened, and she gave her a smile. "It's not going to ask you for any of those things," she promised.

She began lighting the candles. Lynn shifted her weight from foot to foot, folding her arms protectively over herself. For all of Maria's soft smiles and reassuring words, Lynn couldn't find any comfort here.

There didn't seem to be any other options, and Lynn didn't want to wait around for more girls to fall out of this horrible old building's windows, but that didn't change how _wrong_ the whole thing felt. She could see her father's judgmental face as though he were standing in the room with her. And when Jayne found out exactly _what _this little ritual _was_… well, she was going to get yelled at, big time.

For some reason, that thought strengthened her resolve. Lynn swallowed down her fears, and straightened her spine. She looked at Maria, who met her eyes.

"OK," she said determinedly. "I'm done freaking out, and I'm ready to do this."

Unexpectedly, Lynn realized she had meant every single word.

* * *

><p>For the second time in two days, Sam found himself breaking into Maria Rodriguez's townhouse in the Bronx. This time, however, instead of standing by and watching as Dean kicked in the front door, he was standing by and watching as Dean knelt on the front stoop and picked the lock. Apparently, the damage they'd done the day before had been easy to repair, and now getting inside the townhouse once again was going to be harder than expected.<p>

Steve was standing on the edge of the stoop, as far away from them as he could get without going down the front steps. He had his back to them and was presumably keeping watch. He was also whistling obnoxiously.

Sam rolled his eyes. The lock clicked, and Dean pushed the door open. He got to his feet and brushed dirt of his knees as Sam slid past him, stepping cautiously into the entrance hall. "Let's move," Dean grunted at Steve, following Sam inside.

Steve did as commanded, darting inside behind them and shutting the door softly, all the while still whistling.

It was dark inside, as the house faced the east and the sun was setting behind the building. Sam squinted, his eyes trying to adjust to the dim light. He ran right smack into the chicken talons hanging over the door. A brief, disgusted shout escaped his throat as he batted the talons away and tried to regain his footing. The dried, scaly feet clacked together like castanets, and Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Yeah…" Dean drawled, clicking on the overheard light. "It's official. Voodoo is gross."

He shrugged and made his way into the next room, a spacious parlor that hooked around like an L and connected to the tiny blue kitchen. Sam grimaced at his back.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure the chicken feet thing is hoodoo, not voodoo," Sam informed him.

"Whatever. Gross is gross, Sam."

Warm, rosy light flooded the parlor. Sam and Dean turned around, frowning, and found Steve hovering near the newly lit lamp. The shorter man ran his hand over his shaven head and squinted around the room. Everything was dark, paneled wood – the floor, the walls, and even the beamed ceiling. Long lacy curtains hung over the windows, bookshelves lined the walls, and all the furniture was tiny and frilly, like it belonged in a dollhouse. Red scarves were draped over every lampshade.

"Really?" Steve asked incredulously, poking at one of the scarves. "Is she a witch or a hooker? I'm confused."

"Judging by the herbs hanging over your head, I'm going with witch," Sam observed, frowning at the bundles of dry, pale green leaves dangling from the beams. "And actually, I think the correct term is _manbo_."

Steve blinked at him. "Yeah… you know I don't care, right?"

He turned away from Sam and started examining the contents of a built-in bookshelf sandwiched between two windows. Sam frowned at his back and then glanced at Dean. His brother was too busy poking at something that looked suspiciously like an animal skull on a nearby end table to pay Sam any mind.

Sam shrugged and looked around the room. It was anything but normal, but still the contents of the room raised no cause for concern. Sam eyed a tall, wide armoire in nearby corner, finding it the only really suspicious feature of the herb-filled, book-packed room. He walked briskly to the armoire and flung open the heavy double doors.

Inside of the cabinet were more books. Sam sighed and shut the doors again. Maybe Maria really wasn't the answer, he thought to himself. Maybe Maria was exactly what she claimed to be, and they were all just jumping to conclusions.

Sam left Dean and Steve poking around the parlor and ducked back into the entrance way. He frowned up the dark, spiraling stairs that led to the second story. With a brief glance at the other two, Sam began climbing the steps.

There were only two rooms upstairs, one on either side of the stairs with a small bathroom directly in the middle. Sam could see through the open door on his right a simple bedroom set and a lamp draped in a red scarf. He took that for Maria's bedroom. The door on the left was shut, and so Sam immediately turned left and tried the knob.

It turned easily. Sam stepped into the room, finding it pitch black. The windows were covered in heavy drapes, shutting out the late evening sun. Sam felt the wall beside the door for a switch. He flicked on the overhead light and blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

The room had a huge table pushed up against the far wall, and a red cloth lying on the floor. The table was overloaded with candles and other offerings… plates of fresh food, dried and dead flowers and herbs, and several animal skulls. Fresh, green leaves that clearly came from different kinds of trees dotted the altar here and there, mostly nestled between candles. Sam frowned, moving closer. Most of the candles were red, and hanging over the bare white walls were several red tapestries, complete with veve designs.

A walking stick leaned against the table, much more polished and elegant than the crutch at the downstairs Legba altar. It occurred to Sam that this room was merely an extension of that Legba altar… something bigger and more extravagant to appease the spirit that Maria apparently prized above all others. But there was so much red. Sam racked his brain, trying to dredge up details of the last couple days' research.

Tall liquor bottles were scattered all over the table. Sam picked one up and frowned at the label. It was an expensive brand of gin.

"Whoa," a voice came from the doorway. Sam whirled around and found his brother edging into the room, Steve on his heels. Dean whistled. "Well, this doesn't look crazy at all."

"It's just an altar," Sam chided him. "Like the one downstairs."

"Except huge," Dean rebuked. "And crazy."

"What's with all the red?" Steve asked, brushing past Dean and circling the room.

Sam frowned. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "At first I thought this was an altar for Papa Legba, but he's not usually represented by the color red. And there's a lot of gin on this altar…"

"Hold up," Steve interrupted, kneeling before the table and studying the red cloth that lay on the floor. "Isn't this the veve we found in the apartment?"

Sam swallowed hard, his stomach turning at the question. Dean moved all the way into the altar room and joined Steve by the floor covering. "Yeah…" Dean murmured. "I think you're right."

At Dean's agreement, Sam felt his stomach turn again. He glanced at the cloth and found it marked in a way that did remind him of Inez Rodriguez's old bedroom floor. Sam unscrewed the cap on the gin bottle and took a sniff. His stomach sank.

"Dean," he said hoarsely, holding out the bottle. "Smell this."

His brother looked up at him like he was crazy, but took the bottle and smelled it anyway. Dean promptly coughed and grimaced. "Holy hell," he announced from the floor. "That smells like…"

"Gunpowder," Sam finished for him. "There's gunpowder in there."

"Dude," Dean complained. "What a waste of gin. _And_ powder."

"Who fucks up a gin _that_ nice?" Steve asked.

"Kalfu," Sam murmured. "He's said to favor the color red, and gin infused with gunpowder."

He watched the confusion and repulsed grimaces fade from Dean and Steve's faces. "You mean… the dark twin," Steve clarified, in a voice too low and too calm to be real. "The other face of Legba, or whatever. The one that operates the nasty side of things at the crossroads."

Sam nodded slowly. Dean got all the way up on his feet, leaving just Steve kneeling at the veve. "So you're saying that not just Inez was working the dark side of this crossroads stuff?" his brother demanded. "Now it looks like Maria is too?"

"There's no telling for how long," Sam added, shaking his head. "The whole time we've been here, definitely, but possible for years before. Even when her sister was still around, Maria could have been…"

"So she's behind it," Steve interrupted, standing up too. "Everything that happened at that apartment… maybe even Inez's death… Maria's behind it all."

"Yeah," Sam whispered, slumping slightly against the altar. "I mean, maybe."

"Maybe?" Dean snapped.

Sam shook his head. "Who knows how long Maria's been dealing with this thing?" he pointed out. "Maybe we don't even _know_ the _real_ Maria. Maybe this whole time…"

"We've been talking to Kalfu," Dean finished slowly, equal parts comprehension and horror illuminating his face.

Steve puffed out a harsh, nervous rush of air. Both hands passed over his smooth, shaven head, and Sam watched his fingers tug instinctively at hair he no longer had. "And Lynn's with this thing," he reminded them, panicking already. "My sister is with this thing, _right now_. They're doing a _ritual_."

"And Goldilocks went to find them," Dean finished darkly.

Steve made a move towards the door. "We got to go!" he exclaimed. "Right now! Let's go!"

"Don't need to tell me twice," Dean muttered, following him.

Sam swallowed a lump in his throat and looked back at the altar. "Wait," he said.

"For what?" Dean barked at him.

"Loa aren't corporeal beings," Sam murmured. "They draw their power from spells and rituals… things like this altar."

Dean looked at him, annoyed and apparently not getting the point. Steve marched back into the room… he'd already made it into the hall… and pushed past both of them. Then he grabbed two corners of the table and, with a loud, pained grunt, sent the whole thing crashing to the floor. Plates cracked and gin bottles shattered. The candles rolled all around the room.

Sam gawked at him, and so did Dean. Steve ignored them and stomped out of the room, heading for the stairs again. "Let's move already!" he hollered at them, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he descended to the main floor.

Dean shrugged. "Can't argue with that," he said, and then he too was out of the room and rushing down the stairs. Sam could see him pulling his cell phone from his jacket, and knew he was trying to call Jayne.

The room suddenly felt icy cold. Sam swallowed again, hard, and then marched purposefully to the stairs.

There was no way of knowing if destroying that altar had done any good at all.

* * *

><p>Jayne reached Mr. Chen's rundown apartment building just before the sun sank below the horizon line. The deserted, dilapidated street was no busier during the evening than it had been at any other time of the day. She parked her truck against the curb – it was the only vehicle parked on the whole street – and frowned up at the looming, dark, beat up old building. There was a light on in Inez Rodriguez's old, fourth floor window. It was the only light in the whole place.<p>

Yellow crime scene tape still stretched around the sidewalk just outside the front door. The crimson stain on the concrete was still there, as obvious as ever, but browning now as it dried. Jayne gently shut her truck door and took a slow, deliberate step onto the curb. There was something off-putting about the whole place in the almost-dark, and it made Jayne worry more about her sister.

Lynn could hold her own. Maybe Jayne was overreacting. All she knew was that she couldn't stand a single second longer listening to those three boys bicker. Each dumbass had his dumbass heart in the right place –she supposed – but that didn't mean they weren't still dumbasses and that she wasn't sick of their crap.

So she'd come here instead to find Lynn. Because she was also sick of Lynn's crap, and Maria's crap, and knowing that the two of them were about to perform an unknown ritual – Lynn had been suspiciously skimpy on details – she decided to come find her sister and drag her out of this whole mess. That's what it was: a mess.

She ducked under the tape and climbed onto the front stoop. The front door was unlocked, and Jayne pushed it open easily. It had been the same in the morning, she recalled, as Maria had prearranged things with the landlord. She found it strange that the door opened now, however, as every other time they came to the building the door had been locked, and Mr. Chen had guarded the threshold like there was a bank vault on the other side, rather than a dusty worthless old building.

The narrow front hall was dark and too still. On her right, several paces down the hall, was a dim glow from under the only door along the hallway. Jayne frowned suspiciously, creeping towards it.

A wooden plaque nailed to the door read 'Landlord.' Jayne swallowed down a sudden sense of unease and glanced over her shoulder at the dimly lit stairs. Then she knocked on the door as loudly as possible. "Mr. Chen?" she called out.

She got no response. Something about the silence completely unnerved her. Jayne bit her lip, frowning at the dark green door. Once again, she rapped her knuckles against the wood, the sound echoing up and down the hallway. "Mr. Chen!" she called again.

When she still got no answer, Jayne tried the knob. Finding it unlocked did nothing to ease her rising concern. She pushed the door open slowly, letting it creak as loudly as it could. The stooped, frail old man did not come running at her as she expected he would, shaking his fist and hollering threats at her. Nothing and no one came to greet her.

The office was tiny and cramped like the rest of the building. The walls were painted the same dark green as the door. One tiny lamp lit the overcrowded, paper-scattered office with a dim, barely useful glow. A large, high backed, dark green chair sat behind the heavy desk, facing a tiny window that looked out into an alleyway.

Jayne frowned. "Mr. Chen?" she asked again.

She had no reason to suspect that there was anyone in that chair, and yet she did. When no one answered her, Jayne marched purposefully across the little room and rounded the corner of the absurdly large desk. She grabbed the back of the high green chair and whirled it around.

A loud, horrified gasp escaped her lips, and Jayne stumbled backwards into the wall. Sitting lifeless in the chair, with his eyes wide open and glazed over, was Mr. Chen himself. His long frail fingers hung uselessly over the arms of his chair and his head lay limply on his shoulder. Dark red, sticky blood stained the front of his neck and the whole of his white button down shirt.

Jayne didn't wait a second longer. She made no move towards the murdered man, and she didn't bother calling the atrocity in. Instead she turned tail and ran, sprinting out of the office and up the narrow stairs.

Her only thought was to find Lynn.

* * *

><p>The sun was sinking lower in the sky now, Lynn observed. The room was growing darker, and it made the candles Maria was lighting cast flickering, unearthly shadows on the walls.<p>

She swallowed, unprepared. The altar was set on the kitchen island, complete with the bright red scarf acting as a tablecloth and the dog skull acting as a candle holder. Maria put the lighter aside and gave her an encouraging smile.

"I'm ready," she said. "Are you?"

Lynn was not ready, but she didn't tell her that. Instead she nodded, forcing a shaky smile of her own. "Of course," she replied.

Maria reached into her carpet bag of ridiculous proportions once again and pulled a beaded rattle from its depths. Closing her eyes and waving the rattle, she started chanting in another language. It could have been Klingon for all Lynn knew, but most likely it was Creole. As Lynn stood stock still on the other side of the island, watching Maria chant in the kitchen, the lights in the apartment began to flicker. Maria's voice grew louder, and a cold wind blew through the apartment, rustling curtains and dust ruffles, scattering loose papers, and kicking Lynn's hair up around her face. Her aunt raised her arms, still keeping time to her chant with that old beaded rattle, and the candle flames began to dance, threatening to blow out entirely.

Several long seconds passed as Maria chanted and the wind blew. The lights in the apartment buzzed loudly, flickering more rapidly now. Lynn watched with wide eyes, unable to do anything more than stare at the chaos Maria's ritual was creating.

A loud _crack!_ broke through the electric buzzing and the lights died. Lynn jumped about a foot in the air, flinching violently as sparks flew just before casting the apartment into darkness. The candles went out and Maria screamed. Lynn heard a heavy, horrible _thump!_

Her hand went to her gun. "Maria?" she called, taking a few hesitant steps forward. She nearly tripped over a rug in the dark. "Maria?" she asked again, her Glock out of her waistband now and firmly in hand. Cautiously, she tried again to pick her way through the blackness.

Maria moaned. The candles flared to life again, casting dim light and dancing shadows all around them once again. The electric lights stayed off. Lynn ran towards her aunt, finding her face down on the kitchen linoleum. She grabbed the woman's shoulder and tried to turn her over. "Maria!" she shouted. "Are you all right?"

"Well," her aunt murmured in a low, nasal voice. Lynn frowned, convinced it was a bad sign. Maria must be injured. "That did not go according to plan."

"Are you all right?" Lynn repeated insistently.

A low chuckle escaped her aunt's lips. It was deep and throaty and echoed unsettlingly through the apartment. In spite of herself, Lynn instantly released her shoulder and stumbled to her feet. She tripped backwards into the island, her grip on the Glock slipping, and heard a loud metallic clatter as the gun hit the kitchen floor.

Slowly, the woman got to her feet. Lynn stared at her back, her fingers clinging to the edge of the counter. Maria turned to face her, the candlelight cutting across her face. The older woman's eyes were black and empty, more so than she'd ever seen in the face of any demon. A horrible orange glow, like a Halloween jack-o-lantern, ringed the horrible empty blackness.

Wide-eyed and horrified, Lynn took a step back from Maria, sliding around the corner of the island. Maria sneered at her with a malicious mouth that was not her own. As she watched, watery black tears began to dribble over the older woman's high cheekbones and down towards her pointed chin. Lynn swallowed a lump in her throat, her stomach turning with repulsion as she backed further into the room.

Maria held out her hand. Lynn's gun snapped up from the floor and into the woman's palm. The sneer grew wider as Maria rounded the island corner, matching Lynn's retreat step for step. She snatched the gin bottle from the altar and popped the top. Then she opened the magazine on Lynn's gun and dumped the powder down the bottleneck.

Lynn watched, wide-eyed, as the thing with the weeping black eyes pressed her aunt's thumb down over the hole, closing up the bottleneck, and then gave the thing a shake. Once the powder settled in the clear liquid, Maria threw back her head and downed an eighth of the bottle. Then she slammed the gin down on the counter, and gave Lynn an evil, red smirk.

Maria was between her and the door, and Lynn's Glock was useless now. "_Bonjou, bél ti fi,_" Maria said, but her voice was still nasal and too deep, full of something slick and slippery.

Lynn swallowed, taking another step back and glaring at whatever was inside her aunt. "So, what?" she asked, tilting her chin. "You don't speak English?"

It was a half-hearted insult, and the thing inside Maria only found it amusing. "So much spunk," it said, its nasal voice nothing like Maria's. "Just like Inez. Just like good old Marcie."

It walked forward, and she stepped back. "What are you?" she demanded. "Demon?"

"I'm no demon," it spat. "I'm loa. You know who I am."

Lynn choked on the breath she'd tried to take. "It worked?" she questioned shakily. "The ritual…?"

The deep, unearthly chuckle resonated once more through the little room. "No."

Lynn frowned. "Which one…?"

"Think, little Lynnette. Think hard."

The sneer was so twisted, and the eyes so horrible. Lynn swallowed, glancing at the bedroom door. The veve carved into the floor flashed in her mind's eye. Lynn swallowed once more and tried to tilt her chin even higher. "Kalfu," she whispered.

"A golden star for the golden child."

Silence followed his creepy, cryptic pronouncement. Lynn took another step back, and Kalfu mirrored her with yet another step forward. "We summoned you," she said, trying to force steel into her voice.

Kalfu's smirk spread. "How do you summon what was already here?"

Lynn pounced on that, halting her steady backward progression. "So it was you!" she accused the loa. "You've been here the whole time, in this apartment, haunting the place!"

Kalfu's loud, low, dark chuckle filled the room again. "Here… there… everywhere."

Lynn frowned. "I don't understand."

Kalfu leered. "Wherever my Maria goes…"

He trailed off, tilting a suggestive eyebrow, letting Lynn fill in the blanks. Her stomach sank and she blinked rapidly, her eyes suddenly stinging.

"You… were always… _inside_…?"

"I let the bad things out of the box," he mocked her, cutting her short. Lynn gaped at him, slowly shaking her head. She tightened her fists at her sides, angrily wondering just how long he'd been inside her aunt; how many things he'd heard her say; what sort of private details he was now privy to. As if he could hear her unasked questions, Kalfu wagged his head from side to side, still grinning. "I was there for all of it," he told her. "I've been riding Maria here for nearly twenty-four years… ever since your mother threw herself out that window over there."

He pointed Maria's short, slender finger at the window in question. Lynn followed the gesture, staring at the large, paned glass that overlooked the quiet, empty street. She swallowed.

Kalfu laughed again. Lynn turned to face him. "Threw herself?" she repeated hoarsely.

"Threw herself," he echoed with a wide, leering grin. "You thought I had killed her? Why? For me, a proper _chwal_ is hard to come by. Inez… she was almost the best. Second only to Marcie."

It was too much information all at once. Her mind was spinning, trying to keep up. Lynn shook her head and screwed her eyes shut. "You… you…"

"I liked Marcie," he interrupted, his voice a low murmur. Lynn's eyes flew open at the _fondness _she heard there. "She didn't complain, and she didn't try to wiggle out of a deal. She was no welsher, my good old Marcie."

His grin spread wider on Maria's face as he advanced. Lynn instinctively backed up, moving on automatic until her back hit the window, and there was nowhere left to go. "Then I caught _your_ scent," Kalfu went on. "That first time you came here, all those months ago. I followed you for weeks afterward, simply _entranced_. I knew you had to be her."

Lynn tossed her hair and tried to look defiant. "Had to be who?" she demanded.

"Her heir, of course. Next in line. Inez's daughter, the one she tried to hide from me."

For some reason, that last sentence took her breath away. Lynn stared at the loa in shocked silence, rubbing her suddenly aching chest with her fingers as she wrapped one arm around her tumultuous stomach. That was the reason, then, she realized. Why Inez had handed her over to Russ; why Russ had taken her and never looked back.

"I followed you for weeks," it said again. "You don't know it yet… because you don't know the arts, no one's showed you the things you could do… but the power you're capable of? You're going to be magnificent. Just like they were. Better."

She swallowed the aching lump in her throat. "Why?" she asked in a raspy voice. "Why follow me? Why not come up to me before now?"

"So you could run, screaming?" he laughed loudly again. "I couldn't have that. I needed to get you alone. I needed you to trust me. You're so difficult to get alone. Separating one of you from that little pack of yours is no easy task. All of you breathing down each other's necks and looking over each other's shoulders. Safety in numbers, that's the old saying."

Kalfu's wide, mocking smile vanished. He frowned at her, narrowing his big, black, weeping eyes. Lynn was thrown by the genuine curiosity on his face. "I suppose it works for you," he said slowly. "But don't you hate it? Doesn't it get old, after awhile? No room to breathe or grow?"

"What happened to my mother?" she asked, ignoring his questions. "Really. Why'd she do it? Why'd she jump?"

"She tried to stop me," Kalfu sneered. "Bind me once and for all, so I could never leave the crossroads. She tried to break the deal. She thought if she died, she could end it all. Foolish, really. I preferred Inez, but I still always had Maria."

"I don't understand," Lynn pressed. "This whole time, you were inside Maria… you were pulling all the strings…"

"Yes."

"Sam said… I thought the loa could only possess someone during a ritual. I thought eventually you would leave, and let the _chwal_ have their body back."

Kalfu chuckled, and the sound made the little hairs on Lynn's arms and neck stand up straight on end. "Most loa do. But not me. I get bored out there on that road. And now, in this brave new world of ours… well, who wouldn't want to be a part of all the exciting things happening lately? You've seen it, haven't you? You know the winds are changing. Something big and bad is coming… and we know how I feel about the big and the bad, don't we? I like to let those big, bad things out into the world. I want to watch while it all comes crashing down."

Lynn scoffed, although she didn't feel it. "And what happens now?" she asked. "Why am I here? What do you need me for? Why…" She stopped suddenly, her breath catching in her throat. "You said you were inside her the whole time."

"Yes."

"Why the ritual? If you didn't need to be summoned, if you were there the whole time, why did we do that ritual?"

Kalfu leered at her again. "Because I don't want Maria anymore. I want you."

Lynn wanted to take another step away from him. She pressed her back tighter to the cold glass of the window. Kalfu started moving forward again, gliding into her personal space.

"I tried to jump," he told her, the wide, weeping eyes boring into hers. "But you wouldn't let me. You shut me out. You weren't ready."

She lifted her chin again, defiant. "I'll never be ready."

"I've heard that tune before. Never quite gets old… never means a thing. Don't fight it, Lynnette. Let me in. Let me make you powerful. It's your birthright. Ever since Marcie signed on the dotted line."

"_What_ does that _mean_?" Lynn exploded.

"It means I rode her for decades so she could have a taste of premium power. She signed away her freedom and that of all her heirs… and not once did she try to wiggle out of it."

Lynn said nothing, absorbing what he'd said. Kalfu tilted his head, studying her. "I do think she regretted it," he murmured. "Eventually. Not for herself, but for her daughters. There's a difference between agreeing to give away something you don't have, and then following through once you have it. But she knew what she signed. Good old Marcie kept her end of the deal."

"You think you can just… what?" she whispered viciously. "Just jump in my skin and take me for a ride? Forever? You think I'll let you."

Kalfu smiled; a soft, simpering, creepy as fuck smile. "Yes."

"Think again."

"It's exhilarating, the power you could have," he promised her. "I could show you. I could show you everything. I could _give_ you everything."

"Is that what you said to Sophie Delgato?" she spat. "To Kara Mills? Lauren Small? Right before they fell to their deaths?"

Kalfu laughed. Lynn glared at him. "You think it's funny? What you did to them? Promising them…"

"Really?" Kalfu interrupted, sneering. "You think I promised them _anything_? They had _nothing_ to do with us, Lynnette. They were just here. In a position to catch your eye and draw you back out to this place. To _me. _I needed some way to make you come here."

She swallowed down a sudden urge to gag. "You killed them for nothing?"

He laughed again. Lynn gawked at him, shocked. Disgusted. "They never… they didn't…"

"They didn't know voodoo from kung pao chicken," Kalfu quipped. "They didn't know me. _They were just there_."

The candles were flickering again. Maria seemed to grow several inches, and her shoulders seemed to expand. Kalfu loomed over her in all his black, shadowy glory. Lynn felt short of breath and slumped harder against the glass.

"You can say no," he told her. "You can fight it. You can even succeed. But I'll never go away, not really. It's going to be hard, locking me out forever."

The candles went out. Lynn could hear whooshing air and feel wind on her face, blowing hard through her hair. A high pitched scream echoed through the apartment, followed by a _thud_! The candles came back to life. Maria lay slumped on the floor, and black smoke gathered at the ceiling.

Lynn shoved herself off the window and ran towards the door. The candles went out again. Her foot caught on something… a chair, a rug, possibly Maria… and she pitched forward on the hard wood floor, skinning her elbows and banging her knees. The wind blew harder and harder. The candles kept relighting themselves, only to blow out again. Lynn dragged herself to her feet and ran towards the door.

The knob wouldn't turn. Breathless and on the verge of tears, Lynn tore from the door and into the kitchen. She could feel a heavy weight on her shoulders now, and her breath was coming harder and shallower. Lynn scrabbled at the drawers, pulling one open as the candles continued to flash on and off, and her hand closed around a knife.

She had no idea what she was going to do with that knife.

Her knees gave out and she hit the floor. The knife tumbled from her grasp. Sharp pain traveled from her chest to her legs, and she might have screamed if she could only breathe. It felt like she was falling – flying high up in the air, above the ground, and yet also falling towards it.

The candles stopped relighting themselves. Momentarily, the pressure on Lynn's shoulders vanished. She still felt weightless, and her legs were like jelly. Her head was pounding and she still couldn't quite breathe. But she clambered to her feet, snatching up the knife, and made another run towards the door.

The door flew open and the wind picked up again. Lynn stumbled into the wall. The candles flickered on, and then out again. A shadow appeared in front of her.

She stabbed at it wildly. A surprised, pained yelp echoed in the room. Lynn barely heard it as her legs gave out again. She collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Her grip on the knife tightened.

Everything went black. She still couldn't breathe. She lost sense of everything around her, her head swirling.

She had _not_ passed out.

It only felt like she had.

* * *

><p>Jayne could barely remember the race up four flights of stairs. Her only thought was to get to this stupid, shitty apartment and save Lynn from whatever nasty, evil-minded ritual Maria had cooked up. She couldn't even say how she knew that the ritual was bad news. She couldn't offer reasonable proof to explain her certainty that Maria had been the one to slit Mr. Chen's throat.<p>

But she was certain. It floored her, that she could be so certain with nothing concrete to back it up. Still, that didn't change the fact that she was.

She was rounding the last flight of stairs when the loud, high-pitched, horrified scream echoed through the building.

Jayne tore up those last few steps and then flew down the long, narrow hall. She drew her gun automatically as she reached the apartment door. Closing her hand around the knob, she turned it just as her shoulder collided with hard, unyielding wood. She flung the door open.

It was pitch black, but Jayne could feel wind whipping through the apartment. Her hair blew straight back, and so did the tail of her shirt. Aiming her gun steadily in front of her, Jayne marched into the room, headlong into the wind.

The door slammed shut behind her. Then it blew open again. Then it slammed shut. Open, shut, open, shut. Jayne tried to ignore the repetitive banging. "Lynn?" she called out.

Moaning was her only answer. Jayne wasn't even sure it was Lynn. The sound was too chilling, too other-worldly. "Lynn!" she called again.

Light flashed through the room. A dozen candles on the kitchen island suddenly flared to life. Jayne saw her sister slumped against the counter, her black hair hanging over her face like a mop.

"Lynn!" she exclaimed.

The candles went out, and it was pitch black again.

Jayne rushed towards the kitchen. The wind picked up, and now the door to the bedroom began slamming too – open, shut, open, shut – just off time from the still banging hall door. "Lynn?" she asked, reaching out. Her hand closed on what she thought was her sister's shoulder.

A muffled cry was her only answer. Then sharp, agonizing pain burned through her side, just below her ribs. Jayne heard herself yelp. She stumbled backwards, clutching her abdomen. Her grip on her gun loosened and she nearly dropped it on the floor.

Deep, unearthly chuckling echoed through the pitch black room. The doors stopped their banging and finally stayed closed. Then the candles came to life again, illuminating the room with their flickering light. Lynn was standing straight now, a long knife clutched in one hand. Her mop of black hair was out of her face and her eyes had turned big, black and empty. Jayne moved forward, winced, and tightened her grip on her side. She could feel wetness on her fingers.

Breathing hard, she stared at her sister. Lynn's eyes were still black, but now Jayne detected a horrible orange glow just at the edges. "Lynn?" she asked throatily.

Lynn laughed. Black tears leaked out the corners of her eyes and dribbled down her face. "Yes and no," she intoned.

"What are you?" Jayne demanded. "And what the fuck are you doing inside my sister?"

Cackling bounced off the apartment walls. "I am loa. I am the man who guards the crossroads. I am Kalfu, Kalfou and Carrefour. Sometimes I am called Legba… but my brother doesn't like that."

Jayne's breath hitched. She forced herself to stand tall, pressing her fingers tightly against the staggering pain in her side. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked flatly.

Kalfu sneered. "I am here to do what needs be done. To see your world and moderate what comes in and out. Your sister will carry me wherever I go. She'll help me in all my undertakings."

"Like fuck she will," Jayne spat.

He laughed again. "How are you going to get me out?" he asked. His tone was mocking, amused… and genuinely curious.

Before she could think up a response, the door to the hallway flew open. It slammed into the wall, and then, to Jayne's great surprise, her little brother darted over the threshold. Where the hell had he come from? And seriously, could he have worse timing?

"Get out!" Jayne yelled at him.

But the door slammed behind him. Jayne heard the click of the lock. "Should have done that earlier," Kalfu muttered. "Ah, well. Come in, hunter. Join the show."

Steve stood wide-eyed and frozen by the door. He looked at Jayne, trying her best to stand straight and clutching at her side. Then he looked at Lynn, black-eyed and leering and not herself at all.

"So I missed the ritual, huh?" he quipped. "Damn, that's a shame."

He started walking then, making his way towards Jayne. Not once did he take his eyes off Kalfu. Jayne watched him move towards her warily. He stopped at her shoulder.

"Kalfu, right?" he asked. "What's the matter? You break the other one?"

Steve jerked his chin in the direction of the window. Jayne followed the gesture. Maria Rodriguez's petite form lay in a heap on the floor, mere feet from the window in question.

Kalfu shrugged. "One way to put it, I suppose," he drawled. "Now, now, this is quite a conundrum. What am I going to do with you?"

Jayne heard muffled banging on the door just then. She turned to look, finding the door shaking. Voices were coming from the hall.

Steve smiled big for the loa possessing their sister. "Hope you don't mind, but I brought a few friends."

"I don't mind at all," Kalfu leered. "They're not getting in, and soon you two are going to be dead."

"Lynn," Jayne said suddenly. "I know you're in there."

Kalfu snorted. "She is, of course," he mocked her.

Jayne ignored him. "I know you're in there, and the last thing you want is this bastard riding around in your skin."

"She'll come around," Kalfu growled.

Jayne was almost distracted by the change in the loa's voice. Instead of amused and detached, it sounded angry. Steve smirked, releasing a single, sarcastic chuckle. "What?" he asked the loa. "Did we hit a nerve there, man?"

Kalfu took a menacing step forward. Steve smirked wider. "Don't test me," the loa practically hissed.

Jayne could see the altar looming behind her sister. The kitchen island, still strewn with the flickering candles, had been turned into a ritualistic pyre. A red cloth was draped over the counter. Mixed in with the candles were bundles of leaves, morsels of food, and animal skulls. A bottle of gin sat on the corner.

Steve didn't look at the altar at all. He did step gently on her foot. Jayne frowned at him, but her brother didn't take his eyes off Kalfu.

She looked at Kalfu too. "Lynn," she said again. "This thing's going to kill us. You ok with that?"

Kalfu's attention was on her now. "I don't think her opinion matters much at the moment."

"Hear that?" Jayne asked. "He's being a real smartass about making you do things against your will. You going to take that?"

"She can't hear you!" the loa suddenly bellowed, taking another step towards her. "When I am here, before you, you will address _me_. You will respect me!"

Lynn was still between them and the altar. With Kalfu inside her, she seemed somehow taller and broader. There was no way around her, no way to get to the altar. Jayne kept her eyes on Kalfu, and the loa glared at her. Steve wasn't being watched nearly so carefully.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve jerk his head toward the altar. Then he stepped on her foot again.

Jayne remembered Nebraska then. She remembered Sue Anne Le Grange and her black altar in the cellar of her old farmhouse, and how she had used it to bind a reaper. But she didn't say anything; she didn't even react to her brother's boot on her foot.

"Can you believe this asshole?" she asked, her eyes on the loa. "He thinks he's pretty important. You going to listen to that narcissistic bullshit day in and day out? I know you can hear me."

Her side was throbbing. Jayne pressed her hand tighter against the wound, but she could still feel wetness seeping through her fingers. Kalfu simmered, taking a threatening step towards her. Still, he blocked the way to the altar.

"You disrespectful bitch," he murmured with frightening calm.

"I know you can hear me," Jayne repeated herself. "Somewhere, you're still there, listening. If you can… you got to fight this thing, Lynn. Fight back just long enough for me to get it out of you."

"That's not going to happen," the loa growled.

Her head was pounding in time to the throbbing in her side. Jayne blinked, starting to feel lightheaded. "It's a lot of talk," she grunted. "But I think that might be all it is: talk. I think it's a weak thing, the kind that hides behind the faces of strong, powerful chicks because it can't get anything done on its own."

Kalfu lunged at her. Steve leapt forward. The loa noticed and turned away from Jayne, reaching out for him. But it was too late. Steve's arm was out in front of him, extended towards the altar.

Flames exploded along the kitchen island. Smoke billowed towards the ceiling. As Jayne watched wide-eyed, the altar began to burn. Then the smoke-detector went off.

Kalfu shrieked. Steve stumbled, his eyes focused on the burning altar. He was panting heavily and massaging his chest. The flames spread all along the altar, blackening everything on the countertop. Jayne gaped at the inferno, as breathless as her brother beside her, still clutching her aching side.

The demon – loa – whatever it was – the damn thing choked. Lynn fell to her knees, tumbling forward and catching herself on her hands. Her head snapped back and her eyes flashed red. Black smoke billowed out her mouth and hit the ceiling in a burst of fire. When the smoke cleared, Lynn's eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped to the side, landing in a heap on the floor, looking very much – _too_ much – like she was dead.

Jayne's shallow breath caught in her throat and she stumbled backwards into the wall. Her eyes were fixed on her little sister. Steve somehow turned away from the sight and grabbed Jayne by her elbows. "Are you all right?" he demanded.

"I'm fine," she breathed. "Check on Lynn."

"But…"

"Go. Check. On. Lynn."

Steve didn't look happy. He looked like he wanted to argue. Hesitantly, reluctantly, he let go of her elbows and, with one last skeptical look, turned away.

Jayne leaned heavily against the wall, watching Steve jog towards Lynn. Her hand pressed into the wound in her side, and she finally dared to look down at it. Warm red blood dribbled through her fingertips. It was all she could do not to fall over. Instead, she slid down the wall, her shaky legs folding under her. Once she hit the floor, she involuntarily shut her tired eyes, only for them to pop open again when the apartment door slammed into the wall with a loud _bang!_

She turned her head. Dean flew in over the threshold, gun in hand. Sam raced in behind him. One look at her and Dean dropped the gun, racing to her side and sliding in next to her on his knees just like he was sliding into home plate.

"Are you all right?" he demanded, reaching for her hand.

"I'm fine," she insisted as he pulled her hand away from her side. Jayne winced, and Dean sucked his breath in harshly, staring wide-eyed at the knife wound.

He met her eyes. "That doesn't look fine to me," he countered.

"Flesh wound," she drawled, trying to smile for him.

Dean didn't smile back. Blackness was growing at the corners of her vision, and the pain in her side had turned into a dull throbbing, like it was barely even there. She sagged slightly against the wall, blinking, trying to keep her eyes open. Dean dug a balled up handkerchief out of his coat pocket, and then took her hand, pressing it hard against the cloth and into her wound. Hissing, she jerked upright at the sudden, sharp pain.

"You got to keep pressure on that," he ordered. "Can you do that for me?"

She nodded. He removed his hand, but she kept the pressure on the handkerchief herself. Dean shrugged out of his jacket and threw it around her shoulders. Then he grabbed her free arm and wrapped it around his neck.

"This is going to hurt," he told her, sliding one arm behind her back and the other under her knees. "Count of three?"

She nodded again. "One," he counted. "Two… three."

He hefted her bodily off the ground. She gasped at the blinding pain that shot through her side. Her fingers slipped momentarily until she remembered she was supposed to be applying pressure. She pressed her hand tighter against her side, clutching his shirt collar to steady herself.

"All right?" Dean demanded against her ear. She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. "Good. Just hang tight, Goldilocks. I'm getting you out of here."

It was the same thing he'd said to her the last time he rescued her ass. There was something oddly comforting about it. She took a deep, shaky breath, her head swimming. He carried her out the apartment door, barking something at her brother as he did so. Steve appeared suddenly beside them, and Jayne watched as he jogged ahead of Dean, his car keys jingling as he rocketed off down the stairs.

"Lynn?" she asked him hoarsely.

"She'll live. Let's worry about you."

Her vision was fading, and her head felt ten times heavier than it should. She kept her hand pressed tightly against the sharp ache in her side, but her grip was weakening. Unable to keep her head up, she leaned heavily against Dean's shoulder, blinking as she fought the urge to close her eyes.

"Come on, Goldilocks," he murmured into her hair. "Stay awake for me."

Jayne tried, but her limbs weren't doing what she wanted anymore. She sagged harder against him, feeling most of her body going limp, even as she tried to keep pressing on the wound. Dean was moving fast, jostling her with every step he took.

She heard a car start somewhere, and then Dean was sliding into the backseat of her brother's Superbird. Jayne opened her eyes momentarily, trying to lift her head off his shoulder, but found she wasn't able. Dean slammed the door and sat her on his lap, folding her tighter against his chest. She heard tires squeal, and her brother's voice from the front of the car.

Dean's hand enveloped hers, taking over and putting the correct amount of pressure on her side. "You're ok," he told her. "Just stay with me, Jaynie. All right? You're going to be ok."

But the dull throbbing in her head had taken over, and the darkness closed in. Jayne leaned heavily against his neck, her eyes closing and opening. She could still hear Dean calling her Jaynie and telling her she was going to be ok, even as she passed out in his arms.

* * *

><p>Quite suddenly, Lynn's eyes flew open. With a gasp, she came back to herself. She could hear voices all around her, although she could only see the white ceiling directly over her head. The hard wood floor was cold against her back, and her head hammered mercilessly. She moaned with pain, squeezing her eyes shut again.<p>

She smelled smoke. Lynn tried to take a breath, and coughed instead. The sound of a door slamming echoed in her already throbbing skull. If she strained her ears, she could hear the crackling of flames.

Then there was a loud whooshing sound, like an aerosol can of shaving cream. Lynn blinked several times and made herself turn her head. The altar on the kitchen island was burning, and Sam was spraying it with a fire extinguisher.

Lynn frowned. When had Sam gotten there? Where was Jayne? She could have sworn Jayne had been there, and Steve too. Now it was just her and Sam. She winced, sitting up slowly as Sam continued to extinguish the fire.

She saw a knife on the floor, just a little to her right. Bright red blood stained the blade. Her throat closed up at the sight. Everything was just a little fuzzy, but she could remember clutching the knife in the dark and stabbing the shadow that appeared before her. If she closed her eyes and thought hard enough, she could remember snatches of what happened after that.

Lynn tried taking another deep breath, but it turned into a sob. Her eyes started stinging and she lifted her arms slowly, the heavy limbs protesting all the way. She cupped her hands over her mouth and blinked at the ceiling, trying to keep tears at bay.

"Lynn?" she heard Sam ask.

Slowly, Lynn moved her head just enough to look in his direction. The fire was out now, although the charred altar was still smoking. Sam had abandoned the fire extinguisher near the island and was now on the other side of the living room, hovering over the limp body of Maria Rodriguez.

"Is she…?" Lynn began, but her voice broke and she couldn't complete the question.

Sam ducked his head slightly, getting slowly to his feet. "She's… she's gone."

He was moving towards her now. Lynn put her hands over her face, wishing he'd go away. Her head was still throbbing; the pain in her skull a pounding, consistent tempo. "Where's Jayne?" she asked, her voice muffled by her palms. "She was here, wasn't she?"

"Yeah…" he replied. His voice was strange and she could hear him hesitating. "Lynn… how much do you remember?"

She snorted into her hands. Her chest tightened as she tried not to laugh. If she started to laugh, she wouldn't be able to stop. And then the laughter would turn into sobbing. Lynn inhaled deeply, trying to quell the hysteria that was threatening to take over. "Not a lot," she informed him in clipped, barely controlled tones.

Sam took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for this next bit. Lynn lowered her hands and frowned up at him. He was kneeling beside her now, his face looming above hers, and his eyes were all big and puppy-like. This could only be a sign of bad things to come.

"Where's Steve?" she asked hoarsely. "He was here too, I'm pretty sure."

She watched Sam's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed too hard. "Steve left with Dean," he said carefully.

"Jayne?" Lynn demanded.

"They're… taking her to the hospital."

Dread followed his explanation. Lynn frowned harder at him, trying to ignore the cold, icy sensation that pooled in her stomach and began to creep through her ribs. "Why?"

Sam hesitated, looking away. She followed his eyes. He glanced at the blood-stained kitchen knife, and Lynn knew.

"I did it," she whispered. "It was her and I… I _stabbed_ my sister."

He didn't confirm anything, but he didn't try to deny the announcement either. Lynn pressed the back of her hand into her mouth, blinking up at the ceiling. Her eyes were stinging again, and her breath was coming too short and too fast as her chest tightened painfully.

"It wasn't you," Sam said suddenly. "It was… whatever that thing was. You didn't…"

"I did. I was confused, and it was dark, and I could feel him taking over… tell me I haven't killed her."

Her voice was high and squeaky. Sam sighed sympathetically. "You haven't killed her," he complied with her request, resting a hesitant hand on her arm.

Lynn snorted again. "You mean I hadn't killed her when they left. You mean… she could still… I might have…"

She sobbed against her hand and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would keep the tears away. "Lynn," she heard Sam whispering. "Lynn, look, this place is a mess, and any moment now someone might come…"

Lynn ignored him in favor of trying to stop warm, salty tears from dribbling past her eyelashes and rolling down her cheeks. It was a losing effort.

"We have to get rid of any fingerprints or evidence… then we have to _leave_. Lynn, come on, at least look at me."

Still, she ignored him. Sam sighed and she heard him get to his feet. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he circled the dark room. Lynn opened her eyes slightly and peered in his direction. He had a handkerchief out, and he was trying to scrub away possible, incriminating prints.

Faintly, Lynn could hear the sirens starting. They whined and whirled, and they were starting to come closer. Sam heard them too. She watched his shoulders tense as he froze in the middle of wiping the doorknob. Then he hastily shoved his handkerchief back into his coat pocket and turned sharply around, hurrying back to her side.

"We have to go," he ordered. "Now."

Lynn sniffed and turned her head towards the large window. "How could they know already? How…?"

"It wasn't exactly quiet up here," Sam interrupted tightly. "The whole building must have heard."

Lynn blinked at the window. Sam sighed again, this time harshly as he started to get impatient. "Lynn," he demanded, grabbing her wrist. "Come on! We have to _go_."

He tugged her up off the floor. Her aching head spun as she sat up straight, and immediately she pitched forward, clutching her pounding skull in her free hand. Sam knelt beside her. "Lynn?" he asked worriedly.

She ignored him, groaning quietly. Sam grabbed both her forearms and hauled her to her feet. Lynn didn't protest or fight against him, but she didn't help him either. Her weak knees trembled under her weight and she slumped against his chest. Sam wrapped one arm around her back, gripping her right bicep from behind. His other hand remained firmly around her left elbow. Determinedly he steered her forward, out of the apartment and into the fourth floor hall. Lynn let him, her feet moving despite her head not having quite caught up.

It took too long to get downstairs. Sam hauled her out the back exit just in case. The sirens were close now, and Sam glanced all about them frantically, obviously worried they were going to get caught.

Jayne's truck was still against the curb. Lynn frowned at it, but Sam dragged her on past, several paces down the sidewalk to where the Impala was parked. He deposited her in the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her. Then he jogged around the front bumper and slid behind the wheel.

The engine rumbled to life and Sam backed the car up the deserted street, tearing away onto the intersecting road. Lynn couldn't be sure, but she thought the sirens faded as he drove towards the bridge and eventually into heavy New York traffic. They'd been driving barely two minutes when Sam handed her his handkerchief. She looked at him, confused, and Sam tapped his face.

Lynn wiped her cheeks. Her stomach turned at the black streaks that appeared on the handkerchief.

"Where are we going?" she asked numbly.

"The hospital," Sam replied.

"I can't," Lynn returned, clutching the edge of the seat hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "I…. I can't."

Sam gave her a sympathetic look out the corner of her eye. "I get that," he said softly.

The car did not switch directions. They lapsed into silence, and Lynn listened with half an ear to the squealing tires and blaring car horns all around them.

"We're going anyway, aren't we?" she asked tightly.

"You don't have to come in," he returned gently.

More silence followed. Lynn squeezed her eyes shut, still clutching the seat. The burning, stinging tears had returned to her eyes, and now her stomach turned with nausea.

Sam said nothing else. She felt smaller and meaner the closer the car got to the hospital.

A tiny part of her wished she was still limp on the floor of that apartment, waiting for the police to find her there.

* * *

><p>It had been at least two long, painful hours; Dean was positive. In fact, he was pretty positive he'd been sitting in that dinky, hard plastic hospital chair for days, staring at the swinging doors that led to surgery. Steve had vanished shortly after the emergency staff had taken Jayne away, and Dean hadn't seen him since. If he was being honest, Dean was more than okay with that.<p>

She'd passed out on him shortly after getting to the car. He'd tried waking her for the entire ride to the hospital, but nothing worked. When Steve had finally wheeled his tacky orange car right up to the emergency entrance, Dean had flown out of the backseat, carried her into the hospital, and yelled at the staff until they did something for her.

Honestly, he barely remembered any of it. He was trying not to think about it. Instead, Dean swallowed a suddenly developing lump in his throat and hunched forward in the uncomfortable chair, balancing his elbows on his knees and threading his fingers together. Someone sat on the plastic chair beside him, but Dean didn't have time or energy to spare. He didn't even glance at them.

"I take it back," he heard Steve's voice announce.

He glanced over then, and found Steve on the chair. His eyes were on the OR too, and they were tinged red around the edges. The kid leaned backwards in the seat with his legs sprawled out all to hell and his elbow perched as casually as possible on the empty chair to his right.

"Take what back?" Dean grunted.

"Well, not really take it back," Steve amended. "My sister's still awesome and you're still a worthless mountain of crap and if you hurt her, I'll kill you. All that stands."

Dean snorted and looked at the OR again.

"But I'm getting the picture now. The whole thing, you know. You care about her. Like… a lot. As much as I do. And let's face it; you're a hell of a lot better at showing it."

Dean snorted again. "Don't bet on that."

"I'm the one who leaves. You're the one who stays. If you talk to Lynn, that means something."

He said nothing. Steve stared at him a moment, and then shrugged.

"Still hate you," the kid said. "Still think you're a jackass. Still think my family would be better off without yours around. But you're as invested in her as she is in you, so… I'm going to step back and let it be."

"I was never worried about you," Dean told him harshly.

Steve smirked. "Yeah, I know. But she might have been."

Dean had no smart retort for that.

The door to the OR swung open then, and a man in scrubs marched towards them. Both men got immediately, unconsciously to their feet. The tan, plain-faced man lowered his surgical mask and nodded at them.

"She's out of surgery," he announced. "Knife missed her vitals. Would have been a simple stitch job if she hadn't needed the blood transfusion. We put her in room 324. She's asleep and will be for awhile, but you're welcome to go see her."

Steve jumped on the offer faster than Dean could and followed the doctor down the hall at a jog. As bothered as he was by that, Dean had to admit the kid deserved to go first. Steve was her brother, after all. Dean was just her… whatever he was.

He kept his pace to a walk, following behind Steve and the doctor. When they reached the room, Steve ducked inside and the doctor kept walking down the hall, turning down the first intersecting corridor. Dean leaned on the wall outside the door, folding his arms over his chest.

Somehow, he couldn't entirely believe what the doctor had told them. It felt surreal, like none of it was actually happening at all. Dean didn't know why he needed to get inside that room and see her to be sure that she was fine, but he did. Everything felt rushed and dizzying and just not right.

Dean fidgeted against the wall for what felt like an eternity. In reality, it was probably only twenty minutes. The entire hunt kept replaying over and over in his head, like he was trying to figure out exactly where it all went wrong. But nothing clicked in his mind, and all he really saw was Jayne, bloody and limp and not opening her eyes.

Steve stepped out of the room slowly, pushing the door open cautiously and looking up and down the hall. Dean frowned at him, and the kid gave him a short nod before jerking his head back at the room. He could see Steve's gray eyes were redder than before and the kid swallowed painfully before rasping out, "Your turn. I got to call Lynn again."

Then he practically ran away down the hall. Dean watched him go, stunned silent, and then marched purposefully into the hospital room. He wasn't prepared. The painful lump returned to his throat as his feet stopped short just over the threshold, refusing to go further.

Dean tried swallowing the lump in his throat, frozen in the doorway. Jayne was out for the count, hooked up to several beeping machines. She was always pale and thin, but her face was whiter than he'd ever seen it and even closed, her eyes were rimmed with purple. Instead of slender, she seemed too thin and tiny in the hospital bed, swimming in the hospital gown, looking small and vulnerable. Dean's breath hitched, and he blinked several times before forcing his legs to move and carry him across the room. He tried to sit in the chair at her bedside, but admittedly fell into his seat more than anything else. Swallowing again, he stared blankly at her face.

Then he grabbed her hand and gripped it tight. She didn't react. Dean squeezed onto her hand like a lifeline, glaring.

"I'm not going anywhere until you snap out of it," he informed her. "So… snap out of it. We haven't got all day."

Predictably, Jayne did not 'snap out of it.' Dean swallowed and slumped in his chair.

True to his word, he didn't go anywhere.

* * *

><p>The hospital was gray and sterile and cold. Lynn could smell a host of unpleasant sick smells underneath the astringent, nose-hair-burning stench of antiseptic. She didn't want to be in there, not really, but her feet moved against her will and she pushed forward down the long corridors under the unforgiving fluorescent lights.<p>

_You don't have to come in_, Sam had said. He didn't know anything. Of course she had to come in. She couldn't very well sit out in the car and bite her nails, could she? Not when Jayne was so close, mere feet away inside the depressing hospital walls. Lynn's hands were shaking with every step she took, but it didn't change the underlying force within her. She needed to know what she had done. She needed to see it. She wasn't going to believe she hadn't killed her sister until she saw for herself.

Sam was beside her now, easily keeping up with her as they headed for Jayne's hospital room. He was also silent, keeping his eyes on the floor and his hands in his coat pockets, all things for which she was strangely grateful. They made their way quietly and determinedly, like they were marching into battle rather than visiting her sister.

When they reached the room, Steve was sitting in a chair just outside the door. He was hunched over, hands on his smoothly shaven head, and he lookedlost and broken and only half his usual self. Lynn stopped short in the hallway, suddenly unable to go any further.

Sam stared at her a long time, but she ignored him. Finally, he left her in the hallway and approached Steve by himself. "Hey," he greeted the other man. Steve looked up in surprise, and immediately set about composing himself. "How's Jayne?"

Steve sniffed slightly and nodded too much. "Fine," he managed to spit out. "The doctor said she's fine. She's sleeping it off, but she should be awake soon."

Then Steve caught Lynn's eye. She was still standing in the middle of the hallway. Her brother didn't speak to her, and she didn't say anything to him. They just stared at one another.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked, redirecting Steve's attention.

Steve jerked his head at the door. "Inside," he replied. "I'd give him a minute."

Sam nodded. They all fell silent. Steve kept sneaking glances at Lynn, and she stared at him like a gawking moron, unable to look away. Finally, Sam cleared his throat and announced, "I'm going to get some coffee. You two want any?"

"No, thanks," Steve replied.

Lynn shook her head.

Sam nodded. "Four coffees it is," he said, ignoring their refusals and the fact that he hadn't even asked Dean what he wanted. Then he vanished down the hallway in search of the cafeteria.

Lynn still didn't move. Her brother rolled his eyes. "You just going to stand there struck dumb in the middle of the freaking hallway?" he demanded.

His harsh tone snapped her out of it. "I'm sorry," she whispered, but she still didn't move.

"Why?"

"This is all my fault."

Steve shook his head. "Don't be stupid; it's not."

Lynn shook her head too, furiously and insistently. "You don't know; you didn't get there until after. I did it, Steve. I put her there." She nodded at the hospital room.

"Shut up; you didn't put her anywhere."

"I did. I almost killed our sister."

Then she sobbed out loud, by accident, and quickly covered her mouth with both hands.

Steve stared at her. "Come over here," he ordered.

Her feet began moving by themselves again. There was only one other chair outside the door, and she found herself sinking into it. She'd barely realized she'd been moving.

"Get it together," Steve said, looking her in the eye. They were inches apart, sat side-by-side. She could see how red and swollen his eyes were now; how wrinkled his shirt collar had gotten. "You want Jaynie to see you all stupid?"

Honestly, what did it matter? Jayne saw her all stupid all of the time. Lynn shrugged.

Steve rested his hand on top of hers. Lynn released a long, heavy breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "It was an accident," he told her. "That thing made it happen. You just… you got to realize that and then… try to let it go."

"But it was before," she argued. "Before it possessed me. It was dark and chaotic and…"

"It was still an accident," Steve returned. "And that thing is still the reason it happened."

"No, I'm the reason," Lynn snapped. "I didn't listen to anyone. I was so convinced that I knew what I was doing and that I could trust Maria. You and Jayne told me that I couldn't, but I didn't want to hear it. It was the Winchesters all over again. When we met them, Jayne said we couldn't trust them and I told her she was wrong. I'm so full of shit!"

Her voice broke, and a few tears escaped, rolling down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands. Steve's hand fell heavy on her shoulder. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "I mean… I don't like those guys, not really, but… why couldn't you trust them?"

She sniffed. "It's not that we couldn't; it's that we shouldn't have. I always act like I know what's best; that I know who to trust and who to watch and… it's all shit, Steve! I wanted to trust Sam and Dean back then, and I wanted to trust Maria now. That's all it is. It's about what I _want_, not what I _know_. We got lucky with those two; this time I didn't get so lucky."

Steve didn't say anything at first. He just sat there in silence with his hand on her shoulder. Lynn tried not to cry; she tried to keep it all together. It wasn't working. She put her face in her hands again and let herself cry a little more.

"Hey," her brother said uncomfortably. "Hey, don't do that."

She choked out a sob, much louder than intended.

"Look, maybe all that's true," Steve replied hesitantly. "Like… maybe it _is_ about wanting to trust people and not knowing whether you can. And yeah, this time you fucked up, but it's ok now and no one's blaming you for what happened to Jayne. At least, I'm not. You shouldn't either."

She blinked at him disbelievingly. "How can you not blame me?"

He shrugged and smirked. "I don't know. Just don't."

Lynn wasn't crying now. She sniffed again and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Steve lost the smirk and leaned in towards her. "Look, there's nothing wrong with wanting to trust people. I like that about you. Jayne and I… we're these cynical, close-minded assholes and if it weren't for you…"

"If it weren't for me," she choked. "Everyone would get hurt a lot less."

"Doubt that," Steve retorted. "Look, you can't trust everybody. But that doesn't mean you can't trust anybody. So…"

"Stop trying to make me feel better. I screwed up, Steve. She was my aunt and I wanted her to give me answers. She had the answers, and I had nothing but questions and… I wanted to trust her because I'm selfish and stupid and I wanted those answers."

He stared at her in silence. Lynn blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill again and glared at the linoleum floor. Steve cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck. "Ok, yeah," he admitted. "You screwed up."

She stared at him.

He shrugged. "Get over it. We all screw up."

Something about the way he said it made it more ok. Not actually ok, because it was all still horrible and she was still the stupid asshole who had almost killed their sister. But she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. It was so stupid, but she was crying again.

Steve got all tense at first, but then he relaxed and hugged her back. They sat there in the hallway and hugged each other, and Lynn cried on his shoulder.

And in spite of everything, it felt kind of right.

* * *

><p>Jayne blinked. Her vision was blurry and she couldn't see anything other than painfully bright lights and shadowy amorphous blobs. There was a dull ache in her side and a fog in her head that felt like she'd had one too many tequila shots.<p>

It took too long to adjust, but eventually the lights and blobs took on actual shapes. Jayne found herself in a hospital room, propped up in a hospital bed, with a beeping machine hooked up to her arm. She frowned, looking around the dull beige room, and tried to piece together what had happened.

Jayne's eyes found Dean.

He was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair at her bedside, his dirty boots propped up on the foot of her bed. Nearby, an empty pudding cup and used plastic spoon sat on an otherwise untouched tray of hospital food. Dean was slumped over, one hand supporting his head, and his eyes closed like he was asleep.

His other hand was on the bed, entwined with hers.

She smiled slightly, and gave his hand a squeeze. He started, proving he hadn't been asleep after all, and sat up straight in his chair, turning to her with wide, hopeful eyes. Jayne smirked at him and raised her eyebrow.

"You're awake," he said stupidly.

"You ate my pudding," she retorted.

He glanced guiltily at the hospital meal a nurse must have left for her. She laughed at him. Dean shrugged and turned to her with a smile.

"How long was I out?" she asked.

The smile vanished. "A couple hours."

"Where's Lynn…?"

"She's here. She's fine. She and your brother are waiting outside."

Jayne nodded, swallowing. "I guess I'm ok, then."

Dean stared at her, stone-faced. "Depends on your definition of ok."

"How many stitches?"

"Enough."

Jayne rolled her eyes and gave him an irritated look. "Dean, don't."

"You scared the hell out of me back there."

She swallowed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Is that why you ate my pudding?"

Dean didn't laugh. He just glared at her. Jayne rolled her eyes, sighing, and gave him a small, tired smile. "I'm fine," she told him. "Really."

He looked like he wanted to argue. At the very least, he looked like he wanted to say something else. Jayne frowned at him as he stared at her, working his jaw in circles. She reached out for his hand again, and he automatically took hers, squeezing her fingers a little too tightly.

"I…" he stuttered. "Back there, when you… you… I… I just…"

_Spit it out, Winchester_. The words were on the tip of her tongue and it took a lot more energy than she had not to say them. But there was something about the way he stammered and the way he couldn't quite look her in the eye that kept her from saying something insensitive. This uncertain, stuttering Dean was foreign to her, and she was confused by him.

The door to the hospital room inched open, kindly killing anything else Dean might try to say. Lynn poked her head inside the room, and Jayne sat up straighter in her bed. Her younger sister refused to look directly at her, hanging her head and frowning at the floor.

"Hey," she greeted them, her voice wavering.

"Hey," Jayne repeated, staring at the top of her sister's bowed head.

Dean looked torn between disappointment and relief. He let go of her hand and got to his feet. "I'll leave you guys alone," he announced, making a run for the door. Jayne watched, still confused, as he slid past Lynn and walked briskly down the hall.

Lynn slowly entered all the way and gently shut the door behind her. Her eyes were still on the gray linoleum. "Hey," Jayne said again.

"Hey," Lynn echoed, still in that wavering voice, with her gaze never leaving the floor.

Jayne rolled her eyes. "All right, this is getting ridiculous."

At that, Lynn finally looked up. Cliché as it seemed, her wide-eyed, surprised expression was the epitome of a deer caught in the headlights. Jayne jerked her head at the chair Dean had vacated. Lynn sniffed slightly, and then walked slowly towards the seat.

Jayne watched her sister sit down. Lynn studied the hospital bed instead of meeting her eyes. Even with the way Lynn was avoiding her gaze, Jayne could still see that her face was red and puffy, and that her eyes were wet. She'd been crying. Jayne felt like shit.

She punched Lynn lightly on the arm. Lynn looked up at her and blinked. "I'm ok," she told her. "Really, I'm fine. All right?"

Lynn snorted. "It's not all right," she mumbled, refocusing her eyes on Jayne's cheap hospital blanket. Then she sniffed loudly again and grabbed Jayne's hand. "I'm so sorry, Jaynie, I…"

"You don't have to be sorry," Jayne interrupted. "It was an accident. Everything was so fucked up in that apartment and neither of us… It's really ok. Stop beating yourself up about it."

Lynn shook her head. "But it's not ok. I put us in that situation. If I'd just listened… if I'd been more cautious about Maria… we wouldn't have been in that apartment, and now you wouldn't be in this hospital. This is my fault, whether you want to blame me or not."

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Lynn seemed finished speaking her piece, and now she just sat quietly, letting it hang in the air as she gripped Jayne's hand. Jayne simply didn't know what to say at all. It was disconcerting, the way Lynn was grabbing onto her hand, like they were children again and Lynn was afraid of the dark or the movie on TV or the creepy sound some tree was making outside some motel room window. Still, Jayne didn't jerk away.

"It's going to be ok," Jayne found herself saying, because that's what she would have said back then.

Lynn smiled slightly. "I love you."

It was weird to hear that, and hard to respond. Jayne swallowed, blinked, and stared at her sister like she'd grown three more heads. Lynn smiled again, and raised her eyebrow.

"I said I love you," she repeated. "Not that I was joining the circus."

Jayne smiled in spite of herself. "Yeah, well…" she looked away and untangled her hand from Lynn's. "Love you too."

Lynn smiled wider. Jayne stared at the ceiling.

Somehow, everything felt normal again.

* * *

><p>Sam was pacing the hospital hallways again when he saw the cops in the ER.<p>

For the past few hours, Sam had been everywhere _but_ Jayne's hospital room. Ever since he and Lynn had arrived, Sam had been wandering around, locating restrooms and going on unnecessary coffee runs, all to avoid the sad little huddle of people outside Jayne's room.

This undoubtedly made him an asshole, but Sam couldn't deal with any of it at the moment. He couldn't deal with a sobbing Lynn, and he couldn't deal with a shaking Steve, and he was afraid of what he'd find in Dean.

So he'd been wandering. He'd seen the cop cars outside; he's found the cops in the ER; he'd listened in on their conversation with the nurse on duty.

Now Sam jogged down the hospital hall, third coffee run forgotten, intent for the first time on returning to Jayne's hospital room. The officers had come from Inez Rodriguez's old apartment. They'd found Mr. Chen and Maria Rodriguez's bodies. They'd also found the blood Jayne had left behind, and now they were looking for any new hospital entries who'd required a large blood transfusion.

Basically, they were about one hundred feet from finding Jayne.

He was running on adrenaline, and had been all night. Ever since they'd found that altar in Maria Rodriguez's house. All he could think about now was getting all of them out of that hospital and away from the cops… away from Brooklyn and the mess they'd left in it.

Dean was sitting outside the hospital room, alone. Sam skidded to a stop in front of him, and Dean frowned up at him incredulously.

"Dude," his brother said. "Where's the fire?"

"The cops are outside," Sam replied. "They've been to Mr. Chen's building. They found the bodies… they found the blood… and they're looking for Jayne."

Dean was on his feet immediately. He threw open the door. Sam peered inside the hospital room and found Steve and Lynn sitting there, talking to a surprisingly awake Jayne. "Hey, you two," Dean barked. "We got a problem. Get out here."

"Excuse me," Jayne argued from the bed, even though everyone was already filing into the hall and ignoring her. "What's this problem, and why am I not getting told about it?"

Nobody answered her, and Dean closed the door behind Steve and Lynn. Sam repeated his story about the cops, and Lynn's brown eyes got huge.

"Ok," Steve spoke up. "We distract them."

"How?" Dean demanded.

"The cops are already here," Steve returned. "They've probably already interviewed people around and inside the old apartment building. I bet no one there missed my car parked outside."

Sam had to concede that Steve was right. The Superbird was the definition of conspicuous.

"I take them on a ride," he said. "Sam comes with me. He gets Jayne's truck, and then we split up. Take them on _two_ rides. Give you two," here he nodded at Dean and Lynn. "Time to get Jayne out of here."

"Can we really move her right now?" Lynn asked worriedly, chewing on her lip.

"Do we really have a choice?" Dean retorted. He shook his head and exhaled harshly. "I don't know. Sam, maybe I should…"

"You should stay here and help Lynn," Sam interrupted. "We can handle this."

Dean looked seriously torn. Sam got it; this was Dean. Dean didn't want him leading the cops on a wild goose chase; he wanted Sam out of sight and out of the line of fire. _He_ wanted to lead the wild goose chase. And he also really wanted to be the one who stayed with Jayne.

"Trust me," Sam insisted.

Dean didn't look happy about it. He shook his head, swallowed, and glanced at the hospital room with one hand tugging at his hair.

"Dean," Sam persisted.

"Yeah, all right!" Dean snapped. "Fine."

That's as good as they were going to get. Sam nodded. "Let's go," he said, turning on Steve.

Dean ducked into the hospital room. Lynn followed, catching the door. She didn't go in right away, hesitating at the threshold. Sam could see Dean swooping over Jayne's bed and pulling out her IV, gathering her up in his arms.

"Be careful," Lynn ordered, her eyes first on Steve, and then on Sam.

Sam nodded. "We will," he promised.

"Don't even worry about it," Steve smirked, full of false bravado. He winked at his sister, and then he jogged off down the hallway. Sam nodded again, this time in goodbye, and chased after him.

Steve was great at making a scene, Sam concluded. They had both run out the back way, to avoid the police. Once they'd made it across the sea of cars parked on the black asphalt, ducking from shadow to shadow to avoid the harsh floodlights looming over the parking lot, both of them clambered into Steve's car. Now, Steve tore up recklessly to the ER doors, squealing the tires and revving the engine.

The cops saw him. The cops most definitely saw him. A few of them stepped outside, frowning at the car. Steve honked the horn, waved, and then hit the gas.

They were out of the parking lot and halfway down the street before the cops even reacted. Sam clutched his seat until his knuckles were white as Steve wheeled expertly though nighttime New York traffic.

"Thanks for this," Steve told him. "It's not your problem; you don't have to do it."

Sam swallowed and shook his head. "Actually, it is my problem," he returned. "And I do have to do it."

Steve didn't reply. They were quiet a long time. Sam could hear sirens now, drawing closer to them. The Bird was quickly approaching the apartment building. Sam swallowed hard, and Steve glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Ready to tuck and roll?" he asked deviously.

"Yeah," Sam replied, trying not to sound the way he felt; as in, the opposite of ready. "Totally."

Another brief silence followed. "Are you planning on meeting us later?" Sam asked.

Steve didn't meet his eyes. Sam saw his jaw move in circles; he saw the hesitation on Steve's face. He could see that familiar desire to _run_. It hit a little too close to home. Everyone else would have been pissed: Lynn, Jayne and probably Dean… but Sam found he couldn't get angry about it. He wanted to get angry about it. After all, Sam didn't really like Steve all that much, no matter how hard he tried. He supposed it had something to do with how little Steve liked him.

But in that moment, as he watched Steve fight the urge to run, he thought maybe he understood him a little better.

"Maybe," Steve shrugged, and Sam could already tell he'd lost the fight, and the urge had won. "We'll see."

That meant no. Sam nodded. "Ok," he replied easily.

The Bird wheeled around the corner. Sam saw the rickety old apartment building, and he saw Jayne's truck parked at the curb. Police tape was stretched all around the outside of the building, but there wasn't a cop car in sight. Still, the sirens in the background kept whining, coming closer all the time.

Steve jerked the brakes, coming to a sudden stop. Sam leapt immediately from the car. Steve waved goodbye in that sarcastic, annoying way he had, and then he hit the gas again, leaving Sam behind in a cloud of exhaust.

Sam wasted no time. He clambered in behind the wheel of the old, rusty truck and started the engine with the keys he'd snagged from Lynn. The sirens were even louder now. Sam pulled away from the curb and burned rubber in the opposite direction.

His one coherent but fleeting thought was that he really hoped the ancient POS wasn't going to break down on him in the middle of a police chase.


	15. The Usual Suspects

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to miranmary, WinchesterDixonBros, AshlynPaige92, ColtFan165, taylyons, SwAlLoWiNg DaNtE, angeleyenc, musiciansnerd, Spelllesswonder29, Guest, CaptainJayhab, Guest, and Pinkarcade for all the awesome reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 15: The Usual Suspects<p>

Jayne sat stiffly on the paper covered examination table, trying not to make eye contact with the jumpy intern who was currently re-stitching her side. The man was short and scrawny, with mousy brown hair and a pale, freckled face. He looked close to pissing his light blue scrubs in sheer terror. Not for the first time, Jayne's eyes wandered to the twenty-something kid's shaking hands and back up to the nametag that read 'Doctor.'

Doctor her ass. Her side must be full of shaky, half-assed stitches. Well, she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. Jayne eyed her wrist ruefully. She was currently hand-cuffed to the examination table.

"We about done in here?"

The voice came from the doorway. Jayne looked up and found some detective she barely remembered encountering at the Baltimore PD lounging against the doorframe. After her arrest, she'd barely made it into headquarters before they were whisking her off to the hospital to get her stitches redone. The middle-aged cop was heavily tanned, with dark hair cut close to his head, the thicker hair at his crown slightly waved. The intern looked up in relief at the detective's entrance.

"Yes, Detective," he stuttered, backing away from Jayne. The intern had neglected to re-bandage her wound, but crooked stitches were better than nothing.

The intern vanished into the hospital, leaving Jayne and the detective alone in the spacious exam room. It was lit by flickering, half-dim fluorescents, and they gave the place a depressing, blue-gray glow.

He smirked at her from across the room. Jayne raised her eyebrow in response. His haircut and his smirk gave him a boyish appearance despite the wrinkles cut into his forehead and developing at the corners of his eyes.

"I've figured out who you are," the homicide detective announced.

Jayne said nothing.

"Jayne Joely Gibson," he recited, examining a stack of papers in his hand. "You've got quite a rap sheet… nothing concrete, but you're wanted for questioning for a lot of things in a lot of states. Credit card fraud, breaking and entering, impersonation of federal officials and local law enforcement… oh, and my personal favorite? Grave desecration. That one _really _makes me wonder. You and your boyfriend get your rocks off digging up stiffs?"

Jayne quirked her eyebrows suggestively and shrugged without a word.

"He's wanted too, for all that stuff. Different towns, different states… I'll be honest. Can't quite figure out where it was you two hooked up. But you did, obviously, sometime before you came here."

Jayne shrugged again.

"See, at first I thought the two of you were simply stepping up your game," the detective went on. "But then St. Louis faxed me over a report. About year ago, your boyfriend tortured and killed a young woman there. Of course, no one could ever prove anything because supposedly he died."

This smug bastard would get nothing out of her. Jayne stared at him impassively.

"He looks pretty alive to me," the guy smirked. "So do you. You'll never guess what I just got in from the Brooklyn P.D."

He lifted up a sketch artist's rendering of her face.

"It's a good picture," he mocked her. "Really. Looks just like you, wouldn't you say? You might be interested to know that _this_ woman is currently wanted for a double homicide that took place two nights ago in New York City. Maria Rodriguez and Kenneth Chen. Either of those names ring a bell?"

Jayne made no response either way.

"Your blood type matches the blood found at the crime scene," the detective went on. "The same blood type as a patient at Brooklyn Hospital who mysteriously vanished later that same night... a patient who was treated for the exact same wound you've got on your side there. What happened? Maria get feisty? She fight back?"

Jayne just looked at him. The detective shook his head and waved the paper at her. "This picture is of that patient. I'll bet if we run a little DNA test, you're going to be a perfect match."

She kept her mouth shut.

"You two," he spat. "A regular Bonnie and Clyde. I'll bet it was love at first sight. Well, at least now we know Karen Giles wasn't the first woman you two freaks murdered. But I guarantee she's going to be the last."

Jayne still said nothing, but it didn't matter. The detective had said his piece. Still smirking, he tucked the sketch back into his file folder and turned his back on her, sauntering overconfidently out of the hospital room.

She and Dean were in serious trouble.

* * *

><p>Sam paced the short length of his small, rectangular prison. It was a nothing room, all whitewashed cement blocks and stereotypical office clutter jammed against the walls. Cheap vinyl half-broken blinds hung crookedly over both windows, and a single table sat crammed in the middle of the room, taking up almost all the space. There wasn't even a two-way mirror in this room; just a single locked door.<p>

He'd been found in his Baltimore motel room only a couple hours earlier and arrested by enough officers to build an entire SWAT team. They'd been led by a petite, middle-aged, female detective. Sam had no idea what was going on, or why he was being arrested, or where anybody was. Dean, Jayne and Lynn were all still missing, and he was getting antsy.

All of a sudden, the door swung open and in stepped the detective who had arrested him. She had a file in one hand and a cheap paper coffee cup in the other. Her dark brown paint suit was neatly pressed and her dust blonde hair hung tidily around her shoulders. When she smiled at him, crow's feet appeared in the corners of her eyes. The middle-aged cop placed the coffee cup on the table. "Thought you might be thirsty," she greeted him.

Sam scoffed. "Ok, so you're the good cop," he retorted. "Where's the bad cop?"

The detective smirked. "Oh, he's with your brother."

"Ok," Sam said again. "And you're holding us why?"

She smirked wider. "Well, he and your friend Jayne are being held on suspicion of murder, and you? We'll see."

"Murder?" Sam repeated incredulously. Breaking and entering, maybe. Impersonating an officer, maybe. Hell, even assault, maybe. But murder? Sam had _not_ been expecting that.

"You sound genuinely surprised," she said, amused. "Or are you that good an actor?"

"Who are they supposed to have murdered?" Sam demanded.

"We'll get around to that."

"Well, you can't just hold us here without formal charges!"

"Actually we can for forty-eight hours," the cop retorted. "But you being a pre-law student would know that."

Sam shifted slightly at that, suddenly uncomfortable. "I know all about you, Sam," the detective announced, flipping open her file folder. "You're twenty-three years old, no job, no home address. Your mother died when you were a baby. Your father's whereabouts are unknown. And then there's the case of your brother Dean, whose demise was… well, just a little bit exaggerated. Feel free to jump in whenever you like."

He didn't reply. Instead he leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest, as though somehow that would defend him from her accusations and seemingly endless file full of information. His stomach was rolling and his chest felt tight. Something in his head whispered that they were all in a lot of trouble.

"Shy?" she asked. "No problem. I'll keep going. Your family moved around a lot when you were a kid. Despite that, you were a straight A student. Got into Stanford with a full ride. Then about a year ago, there was a fire in your apartment. One fatality. Jessica Moore."

Sam was surprised at how well he hid the flinch. The detective barreled on like she hadn't just reminded him of the single worst night of his life. "Your girlfriend. After she died, you fell off the grid. Left behind everything."

"I needed some time off," Sam rasped, glaring down at the petite policewoman. "To deal. So I'm taking a road trip, with my brother."

"How's that going for you?"

"Great. I mean, we saw the second largest ball of twine in the continental US. Awesome."

He pushed himself off the wall, grabbing a chair and sitting on it backwards. Then he folded his arms over the back and smirked at the cop. She narrowed her eyes.

"We ran Dean's fingerprints through AFIS. Jayne's too," she informed him, coming closer and leaning forward on the table.

"Ok."

"Found over a dozen possible hits."

"Possible hits," Sam returned triumphantly, pointing his finger at her. "Which makes them worthless!"

"But makes you wonder. What are we going to find when we run _your _prints?"

Sam scoffed again. "Yeah, well… you be sure and let me know, all right?" He gestured at the coffee cup with his still injured, gauze-wrapped hand. It had been wrapped up for weeks, and still the thing wasn't healed. "May I?" he asked.

"Please."

"Great."

He lifted the cup and took a small sip. The coffee was lukewarm at best, and tasted stale. The cop didn't leave the room. Instead she took a seat on the table, mere inches away from him.

"Sam, you seem like a good kid," she told him. "It's not your fault Dean's your brother. We can't pick our family."

He bit his tongue to keep from replying. If only she knew.

"Right now, detectives in St. Louis are exhuming a corpse. They're trying to figure out how your brother faked his own death after torturing all those young women. Dean's a bad guy. His life is over. Yours doesn't have to be."

Sam finally made eye contact with her again, lifting his head slowly and purposefully. "You want me to turn against my own brother."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "We already caught him and Jayne cold. Red-handed at the Karen Giles murder scene. We just need you to fill in some missing pieces."

"Why would I do that?"

She sat down in the chair across the table from him. "Because I can talk to the DA. Make a deal for you. You can get on with your life. Dean's as good as gone."

He had to at least look like he was thinking about it. Sam studied the wall on his right, swallowing the sour after-taste of bad coffee. He cleared his throat slightly, palming the coffee cup between both hands. Then he looked down at the table, and back up at her.

"My dad and Tony Giles were old friends," he began, his voice hoarse. "They were in the service together." He laughed slightly. "We've known him since we were kids, you know? So we came as soon as we heard about his death."

* * *

><p><em>Thirty-six hours earlier…<em>

Jayne woke up slowly, her head pounding and her vision blurry. The bed was soft, but unfamiliar, and the room she was in even more so. Her fingers tightened around the comforter as she briefly panicked, but then she caught the scent of Dean's aftershave. She was still wearing that tired old hospital gown, but over that was Dean's favorite warm, red button down.

Slowly, wincingly, she sat up. Her wounded side ached. She frowned around the room, clutching the white gauzy bandage. Lying over top of the comforter where her shoulders would have been was Dean's leather jacket, and for some reason, the gesture made her throat swell up. Jayne swallowed hard, and focused on other things.

The motel room was tiny but clean, and there were two beds. Lynn, missing her boots but otherwise fully clothed, was fast asleep in the other bed, in an awkward position on top of the covers. Standing at the kitchen counter three feet to the right of Jayne's bed was Dean, with sleep-tousled hair, pressing buttons on the coffeemaker. He was wearing a blue tee shirt and a pair of dark gray boxers. She could see every freckle and every dark blonde hair on his arms and legs. Swallowing, she sat up all the way and swung her legs over the side of the mattress.

The creaking of the bed springs caught Dean's attention and he looked over his shoulder at her. A big, boyish smile spread across his face. "Morning, Goldilocks," he greeted her, winking. "Coffee?"

She nodded. Dean pulled two mugs out of the lone, awkward hanging cabinet above the sink. Jayne shrugged the rest of the way out of the covers, and the sudden blast of cold air made her pull Dean's shirt tighter around herself. She put her feet on the carpet and stood up slowly. Immediately, she was dizzy, but she tried to ignore it… which was how she ended up nearly falling on her face. Jayne wasn't sure how he did it, but no sooner had she lost her balance Dean was there, holding her up with his arms around her waist.

"Whoa," he scolded, steering her towards the bed again. "Take it easy. Sit down."

"I don't want to take it easy," she mumbled mulishly as he pushed her down on the bed. He pulled back the shirt she had on and tried to lift her hospital gown to look at her stitches. Jayne smacked his hand away. "I'm _fine_."

"Yeah, that's a load of crap," he retorted, but he stopped trying to examine her. Instead, he brushed his hand through her hair, tucking stray strands behind her ear. Jayne frowned up at him, tempted to smack his hand again. She didn't, and he didn't remove his hand, keeping it twisted in her hair as his thumb brushed gently across her cheek.

"I'm fine," she said again, this time in a whisper.

Dean stared at her a moment, and then dropped his hand. He looked at the floor and stood up. The coffee pot started making noises, and he turned back towards the machine, leaving her alone on the bed.

"Where are we?" she asked hoarsely.

He looked over his shoulder at her. "Baltimore."

"Baltimore? How…?"

"The cops showed up at the hospital," he explained, returning his eyes to the coffee pot. "They'd been to the apartment and they had some questions for us. Lynn and I grabbed you and booked. Sam took the truck, and Steve took his piece of crap, and they led the cops on a wild goose chase."

She swallowed, hard. "Yeah, I remember that. Have you heard from them? Are they…?"

"They're fine. They shook them."

"Where are they?"

"Sam called an hour ago. He's headed towards town, and he'll meet us here soon." Dean smirked. "I told him to bring breakfast."

Jayne ignored the sidebar. "Where's Steve?"

"Canada."

There was a long silence. Jayne fisted her hands in the comforter and stared at Dean's back as he slowly, methodically poured the coffee.

"Is he meeting us here?" she asked, her tone as detached as she could make it. She already knew the answer, anyway.

Dean's shoulders tensed slightly. "No," he said.

Her shoulders slumped and all the air rushed from her lungs with a heavy, harsh sigh. Dean turned around and handed her one of the coffee mugs. She wrapped her hands around it, absorbing the heat in her palms, and stared at the liquid inside. Dean sat on the bed beside her, coffee in one hand, and gripped the inside of her thigh, just above the knee, with his other.

She stared at his fingers. His thumb was moving in soft circles against her bare skin. Dean took a gulp from his coffee, his eyes boring holes into the far wall.

"You keep doing that," she observed.

Dean smirked at her, cocking an eyebrow. "Want me to stop?"

She tried to glare at him, but a smile kept tugging at the corners of her lips. Suddenly, Lynn's cell phone exploded into song from its place on the nightstand, assaulting her ears with loud, Bollywood-esque music, before turning into the beginning of a rap song. Lynn groaned loudly, rolled over, and threw her phone across the room.

Jayne raised her eyebrow, following the phone with her eyes. Dean chuckled loudly. That caught Lynn's attention and she lifted her head ever so slightly from the pillow, squinting at them through her mussed black hair.

"_Why_ are you two awake?" she mumbled.

Jayne blinked at her. "You know you just threw your phone across the room."

"Mm-hmm… no… wait, what? Shit!"

Lynn was suddenly awake and on her feet. She scrambled frantically across the cramped motel room. Jayne snorted as her sister bent over in front of the bathroom door and scooped her phone off the old, ugly dark carpet, her hair still in a tangled nest around her head. Lynn heaved a huge sigh of relief as she straightened, and then she turned around and waved her phone at them with a big smile.

"It's not broken," she announced. Then she frowned. "Why are you two all touchy?"

Jayne felt a surge of panic as she looked down at Dean's hand. He immediately removed it from her leg and jumped to his feet.

"Coffee?" he asked Lynn, opening the awkward cupboard and grabbing another mug.

"Yeah, sure..." she murmured skeptically, frowning at them both. "You know, if you two are…"

"Cream, right?" Dean interrupted her.

"Right… a _lot_, remember. Um… if you two are…?"

"Sugar?"

"Yeah, sugar. Look, it's totally cool and not at all surprising if…"

"Here you go," Dean cut her off, handing her a mug.

Lynn took it, glaring at him as she did so. "So… I don't get to finish this sentence _ever_. Is that what's happening here?"

Dean smirked. "Pretty much, yeah."

Lynn sighed harshly and rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just know… I _know_."

Then she stomped back to her bed and flopped down on the mattress. Jayne frowned at her as Lynn swiped the remote off the nightstand and turned on the TV. Lynn caught her eye and raised a pointed eyebrow, waving the remote in her direction.

"Yeah, that's right," she said. "I _know_. I see everything, and you two suck at subtlety anyway."

Jayne shrugged. "No idea what you're on about."

"_Sure_. Fine. Lie to me. I don't care. Actually, I care a lot, but I can pretend I don't."

Dean drained the rest of his coffee and plunked the mug on the counter. "Dibs on the shower," he announced, grabbing a pile of clothes from his duffel and then disappearing into the bathroom.

Lynn waited until the water started running before turning narrowed eyes on her sister again. "Remember when Sam and I were hooking up and pretending nothing was going on and you found out about it and asked me what the big deal was and why I was trying to keep it a secret?"

Jayne stared at her a moment. "Rings a faint bell."

"Oh, good. Glad it _rings a bell_. Anyway, I just wanted to remind you of that before I called you a big, stupid hypocrite."

It was Jayne's turn to roll her eyes and flop backwards on the bed. Lynn stared at her silently for a moment, and Jayne ignored her.

"You're a big, stupid hypocrite," Lynn announced.

"You done now?"

"Yes. I'm done."

Jayne raised her eyebrow skeptically. "Really?"

"No, not really. But I'm letting it go for now, until I've gathered further evidence of your lying and hypocrisy. You know, I'm the only sister you've got. It's bad for our relationship that you won't admit you're sleeping with Dean Winchester."

"You're not going to trick me into admitting something."

"Damn it."

Lynn pouted and glared at the TV. Jayne smiled, amused, and took a sip of coffee.

Suddenly, there was loud pounding on the motel room door. Groaning, Lynn clambered to her feet and dragged herself to the door, coffee in hand. She peered through the peephole, rolled her eyes, and then threw open the door. "Hey, Sam," she greeted the younger Winchester, who was waiting impatiently and scruffy-haired on the other side of the threshold with a wad of newspapers under his arm and a greasy takeout bag in his hand.

"Hey," he said softly, stepping inside. "How you holding up?"

Lynn swallowed and her mouth got all puckered and tense. "Better."

She closed the door and fastened the chain. Sam looked up and saw Jayne sitting up on the bed, raising her eyebrow at the two of them. "Hey, Jayne," he greeted her. "Feeling better?"

Jayne shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Sam looked unconvinced, but didn't press the subject. "All right, I got breakfast," he announced, heading over to the counter and setting down the bag. "And nobody touch Dean's egg and sausage pie."

"Ew," Lynn whined, crinkling her nose. "Who would _want_ to?"

Sam shrugged. "Mostly just Dean."

He was pulling out oily, paper wrapped breakfast foods and setting them on the counter. Lynn danced over to his side and started poking through the contents of the bag, looking for her breakfast. Jayne sat patiently on the bed, raising her eyebrow at them again.

Lynn tossed Jayne's food at her face, and Jayne barely caught it between both her hands. Then Lynn grabbed her own meal and jogged back to her bed, jumping hard onto the sagging, creaking mattress. Jayne rolled her eyes and unwrapped her breakfast sandwich. Her stomach turned at the stench of grease and eggs. The thought of eating anything at all was less than pleasant. Apparently, hospital drugs did not agree with her.

She heard the shower stop. Sam poured himself the last of the coffee, and set about making another pot immediately. "Man, I'm tired," he yawned, flicking the on-switch and then taking a heavy gulp from the freshly poured coffee in his hand.

"You've been driving all night?" Jayne asked, putting her sandwich on the nightstand.

Sam nodded, blinking sleep out of his eyes. "Yeah. Lost the cops early on, though. I think your brother was running interference. He make it out ok?"

"He called," Lynn answered. "He's fine. Waiting it out in Canada."

"It's all over the news," Sam said, tossing her one of his newspapers. It looked like a copy of the New York Times. "They don't have a good description of the truck, but there's an APB out on the Superbird."

Lynn sighed. "Guess he's staying in Canada for awhile."

Sam shrugged. "Probably the best plan."

"Did you fuck up my truck?" Jayne demanded.

Lynn rolled her eyes and Sam did his best not to smile. He failed. "Your truck is fine."

Jayne narrowed her eyes. "I'll be the judge of that."

Sam smirked and shook his head. Lynn rustled the newspaper in her hands. "Wanted for questioning in Brooklyn double homicide," she read aloud. "There's a description of Steve in here… a really bad description, even if they have the car down to the last detail… uh-oh."

"Uh-oh, what?"

All three of them looked up at the sound of Dean's voice, finding him standing in the bathroom door, fully dressed and toweling his hair dry. He nodded a hello at Sam, tossed his towel over his shoulder and headed for the takeout bag on the counter. "Well?" he prompted Lynn impatiently.

Lynn swallowed, hard. "There's a description of you, Jayne. They don't know who you are yet, but… it's a _really_ good description."

She held up the newspaper, revealing an artist's rendering of Jayne. It looked almost exactly like her. Jayne blinked at the picture of herself, whistling low. "Great," she drawled. "I'm New York's Most Wanted. Good thing I _never_ want to go back there _ever_ again."

"Is there anything about us?" Dean asked. "Me? Sam? You?"

Lynn shook her head. "Just Jayne and Steve."

She'd been wolfing down her breakfast the entire time they'd been discussing the Brooklyn stuff, and now Lynn tossed her empty wrapper into the nearby trash. She drained her coffee and hopped to her feet.

"I'm going to take a shower," she announced, heading for the bathroom.

"Hold on," Sam said. "I found this in a local newspaper." He opened the paper to a previously marked page and started summarizing key points. "Anthony Giles, a Baltimore defense attorney, was found murdered in his office overnight. Throat was slit, room was clean, no DNA, no prints and security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant."

He looked up at them all expectantly. Lynn just frowned at him. "What's that got to do with anything?" she asked.

Sam swallowed back what Jayne was sure was an annoyed retort, and replied, "It's a case. Right here in Baltimore."

Lynn's face lit up with understanding, followed by slight embarrassment. "Oh."

"A case, Sam?" Dean asked, taking a huge bite out of his fried pie. "Really? Now?"

Sam frowned. "Why not? I mean, we're here aren't we?"

"Yeah, so?" Dean retorted with his mouth full. Lynn made a disgusted face by the bathroom door. "I think we should lay low for a little while. Goldilocks is still pretty rough, not to mention her face is splashed all over the news…"

"I'm fine," Jayne interrupted him tersely. "Really, I think we should look into it."

"I don't know," Lynn argued hesitantly. "Dean's got a point, Jaynie. You're New York's Most Wanted, remember?"

"Yeah. And this is Baltimore."

"But you just got out of the hospital," Lynn pressed. "And you were in really bad shape, and the doctors wanted to keep you there longer, but we snuck you out because, well… the cops…"

"I'm fine," Jayne repeated. "And it doesn't sound like a hard case. Invisible attacker usually means vengeful spirit. It's a salt and burn job; no big deal." Lynn didn't look convinced. "Jesus, I'll take it easy, all right? I promise."

Lynn sighed. She was obviously not happy. "Fine," she relented. "But remember; you promised."

"Yeah, yeah."

Her sister rolled her eyes. "Still taking a shower," she said, heading into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Sam yawned loudly and flopped down on her abandoned bed. "I'm going to try and get a few hours sleep," he announced.

He got two grunts for a reply. Sam didn't seem perturbed, however, and rolled over on his stomach, burying his face in a pillow. Jayne smiled slightly at the sight, and then looked over at Dean.

Dean glared at her. "You're not eating," he accused her.

Jayne looked at the unwrapped breakfast sandwich on the nightstand. She shrugged. "I'm not hungry."

"Eat," he ordered.

Jayne bristled. "Since when do you get to order me around?"

"Eat, or we're not taking this case. Hell, we're not taking _any_ cases if you're not going to take care of yourself."

He sounded _so_ pissed, and Jayne rankled at his tone, trying to figure out what gave him the right. She was the one with the knife wound in her side.

"Worry about yourself," she retorted. "I'm fine."

"Bull shit," he snapped.

Sam groaned into his pillow. "Guys, I'm trying to sleep here. Can you have this argument some other time?"

Both of them glowered at his back, but Sam didn't even lift his head. Jayne finally turned away and glared at the TV instead. Lynn had left it on, and Sam had put it on mute.

Dean sat on the bed beside her and very deliberately reached across her body, too close and too warm and overall just too everything. He grabbed the sandwich off the nightstand and pressed it into her hand.

"Just eat the damn thing," he sighed, exasperated.

Her stomach turned at the idea alone. The smell made her feel sick. She ate half the thing anyway, and then she couldn't eat anymore. She wrapped the thing up and tossed it aside, washing the taste away with the remains of her coffee. Dean looked at her sideways, and then at the rest of her breakfast. He opened his mouth, undoubtedly to demand she finish the thing. Then he took a good look at her face, and his glower faded.

"What?" she demanded in a low voice. Sam was breathing heavily on the next bed, and she didn't want to wake him.

Dean's soft look soured again, and he turned his hard eyes on the television. "Nothing."

They didn't speak for the rest of the morning.

* * *

><p>"So," Sam scoffed, continuing his carefully cultivated version of the events. "It would have been pretty difficult for Dean or Jayne to kill Tony seeing as we weren't even in town at the time."<p>

"Ok," the cop replied; neither her voice nor her face betraying any sort of reaction to his story so far. "So tell me what happened next?"

"Ok, uh… that's when we went to see Karen," Sam explained. "She was barely holding it together. We just wanted to be there for her, you know?"

* * *

><p><em>Twenty-four hours earlier…<em>

"Insurance. I completely forgot about insurance."

Lynn swallowed hard and pulled nervously on the lapels of her blazer. Karen Giles looked like a certifiable wreck. Her short auburn hair was pulled back in a messy bun at the nape of her long white neck, and there were shadows under her dark eyes. Her pale face was whiter than it should have been and puffy, like she'd been crying.

Of course the woman had been crying. Her husband had been murdered. Lynn watched Karen lower the insurance paperwork down on the dining room table and remove her reading glasses. She dabbed at her nose with a crumpled tissue she'd pulled from the sleeve of her oversized, lumpy gray sweater.

Her house was huge. It was immaculate, and honestly reminded Lynn more of a showroom than someone's actual home. Karen had let Lynn and Dean into her house mere minutes ago and set them all up at a too big table in what seemed a little-used dining room. Everything was polished wood and patterned crème walls. Sheer white curtains hung over the French doors, and there were soft satiny white cushions on the straight-backed wooden dining chairs.

"We hate to bother you," she apologized, wincing at the way Karen sniffed and fidgeted in her seat. Lynn swallowed down the sudden desire to bolt and tried to smile earnestly at the grieving widow. It felt too wide and forced on her face.

"Our company is required to conduct its own investigation," Dean drawled smoothly, without an ounce of sympathy in his voice. He seemed to sense Lynn's hesitance and took over. "You understand."

Karen didn't seem to like Dean all that much. Lynn watched her glare at the man as her fist tightened around her Kleenex, resting on the wooden table. She enveloped Karen's soft white hand in her own tiny tanned one. "We understand this is a difficult time," she smoothed over Dean's harsh tone. "And we apologize for the intrusion. But your insurance company is very thorough, and the interview is necessary to collect the benefits you deserve."

Lynn received a small, watery smile for her trouble. Karen ducked her head and tried to compose herself. Lynn glared at Dean over the table, and he shrugged at her unapologetically, his expression clearly reading, 'what?'

"Can you tell me what happened the night your husband died?" Lynn asked Karen.

Karen sniffed again. "Tony and I were supposed to have dinner," she explained. "He called and said he was having computer troubles and that he had to work late. That was it."

Lynn caught her lower lip with her teeth, and squeezed Karen's hand again. "Can you think of anyone who might have done this to him?" she asked. "Someone with a grudge or someone who he'd recently fought with…?"

"No," Karen interrupted, shaking her head furiously. "It's like I told the police… I have no idea."

"Did Tony mention anything… _unusual_… to you?" Dean cut in. "In the days before his death?"

Lynn eyed him warily. She couldn't lie; she felt really uncomfortable in this woman's dining room. She'd been out of sorts since they rang Karen Giles's doorbell. The woman was upset, and Lynn wasn't even sure this was their kind of case to begin with. They might be bothering this poor lady for no good reason; Tony might have been murdered by a person who knew how to tamper with security tapes. And anyway, she was still antsy about leaving her injured, wanted-by-the-police-for-homicide sister back at the motel. Sure, Sam was with her, but he'd still been sleeping when they left.

Really, they shouldn't be working this case at all. They should be running. Fast and far. Like, now.

Karen blinked at Dean in confusion. "Unusual…?"

"Yeah, like _strange_."

Karen didn't look any less confused. She shrugged, shaking her head. "Strange…?"

"You know, Karen… _weird_. Weird noises… _visions_… anything like that."

Lynn kicked him under the table. Dean flinched violently, tightening his hand into a fist on the table, and barely managed to turn a grunt of pain into a slight cough. Karen frowned at him even harder, and Dean offered her a smile. The second Karen looked away Dean gave Lynn the darkest, most annoyed glower he could muster. Lynn smiled sweetly back, trying to send him a telepathic message with her eyes.

The message was, _shut up Dean, you idiot._

Karen still looked confused, but she offered up something nonetheless. "He had a nightmare the day before he died."

Lynn twitched her lips sympathetically at the other woman. "What kind of nightmare?"

Karen frowned at her, still confused and faintly incredulous. "Uh… he said he woke up in the middle of the night and there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed. He blinked, and she was gone." She sniffed and frowned again. "It was just a nightmare."

Dean nodded. "Did he say what she looked like?"

Karen was no longer confused; Karen was now annoyed. She gave both Dean and Lynn fully incredulous, slightly angry looks. "What the hell difference does it make what she looked like?"

Lynn raised an eyebrow at Dean. He spluttered slightly. "Uh… our company is… very… thorough," he finally spat out, echoing her own earlier statement.

Karen kept glaring at him. "He said she was pale and she had dark red eyes."

Dean had the decency to look a little abashed and lower his eyes. Still, Lynn caught his gaze over the table and saw a small, knowing look of triumph directed at her. She frowned at him, and then patted Karen's hand again. The look Karen gave her was way less hostile than the one she'd given Dean, but still far from friendly.

"Thank you for your time," she said. "We'll begin processing this immediately. Again, we're so very sorry for your loss."

Karen stared at her, silent and still incredulous. Lynn got to her feet and forced a smile. "We'll show ourselves out."

They left Karen sitting at the dining room table, both of them speed-walking for the exit. The second they reached Dean's car, parked at the curb directly before the large two-story home's entrance, Lynn snapped at Dean, "Wow! Way to be compassionate and subtle and totally inconspicuous."

"Whatever," he shrugged, getting in behind the wheel of the Impala. "At least I got some answers."

He slammed the door. Rolling her eyes, Lynn slid into the passenger seat and glared at him as he started the engine. "Yeah, after you royally pissed off the grieving widow."

Dean pulled away from the curb. "Well, how else were we going to get the story about the red-eyed ghost girl out of her?"

Lynn picked nervously at her blazer again. Dean was already loosening his tie. "I don't know," she admitted. "You really think it was a ghost?"

"Pale, red-eyed chick standing at the foot of the bed in the middle of the night? Pulls a disappearing act the second he looks away? Sounds like a ghost to me. Let's just figure out who she is and salt and burn her. Then we get the hell out of here and far away from the cops trying to find your sister."

She sighed. "We shouldn't have bothered taking this case," she announced. "Maybe it looks more like an actual hunt now, but…"

"I hear you," Dean interrupted. "I didn't want to take it either, remember?"

They lapsed into uncomfortable, annoyed silence. Lynn rubbed her temples, resting her forehead in the L between her finger and her thumb. "At least we got her to stay at the motel for now," she offered brightly.

"Yeah," Dean grumbled. "How long you think that's going to last?"

Not very long at all.

"She's trying to prove something, is all," Dean went on, his hands tightening visibly on the steering wheel. "It's stupid, and it's going to land her ass back in the hospital."

He was right, of course. Lynn swallowed hard, twisting her hands in the fabric of her wide-legged slacks. The mention of the hospital made her breath catch in her suddenly aching chest. This was all her fault, anyway.

Dean didn't blame her out loud, but she was sure he was thinking along the same lines. Steve was obligated to forgive her; she was his sister, and he had to be there for her and Jayne in equal measure. He was going to say it was fine even if it wasn't. And Sam… it was easy for Sam to say it wasn't her fault. He wasn't there when it all went down anyway, and even if their relationship had changed some over the past few months, altering their tentative closeness and not for the better, it wasn't like Sam and Jayne were best friends or anything. Sam could worry about Jayne and like her fine and be glad she was ok, but it was just easier for him to brush off what Lynn had done. And Jayne… Jayne just always forgave her. It was what Jayne did.

But Dean didn't have to forgive her. Dean liked her fine, Lynn was sure; most of the time at least, she was sure. But she wasn't a moron, and she knew he was always going to take up for Jayne, especially in a situation like this one. He had to be as mad at her as she was at herself; he _had_ to be, even if he wasn't saying it.

Some sick little part of her really wanted him to man up and say it.

But before she could gather enough courage to confront him about it, Dean made a sharp turn into the motel parking lot and parked the Impala in front of their door. The motel was a long, two-story, rundown pit, with buzzing lights hovering high above the building, and their room was on the second floor. Dean killed the engine and climbed out of the car, making for the outdoor stairs that led to the second floor's open air hallway.

Lynn followed him slowly, pulling her blazer tight over her chest. Dean got to the motel room door first and ducked inside without her. By the time she reached the still open door, he was already shedding the layers of his so-called monkey suit. Sam was awake and making coffee again. Surprisingly, Jayne was asleep. She'd showered and pulled on real clothes, but fallen asleep on top of the bedspread regardless. Her half-eaten breakfast sandwich was in the trash.

"Hey," Lynn greeted Sam quietly, shutting the door behind her as gently as possible. She slid the chain into place automatically. "Just wake up?"

Sam yawned and nodded. "I was up a few times, but managed to get back to sleep again."

"Did she eat anything?" Dean demanded roughly, jerking his head at Jayne.

Sam shrugged. "I don't think so."

Dean gathered up a change of clothes, looking sour, and stormed towards the bathroom.

"Don't slam the door," Lynn ordered. "You'll wake her up."

She earned herself a glare and some mumbling under his breath, but Dean heeded the order and shut the door quietly behind him. Sam sighed, shaking his head at the bathroom, and gave Lynn a rueful smile.

"He gets…" Sam trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Pissy?" Lynn supplied.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, pissy. He gets pissy when he's worried."

She nodded. Sam's smile faded. The two of them stood in awkward silence for several moments. The coffee machine made a noise behind Sam, and he turned around to fix himself a cup. Lynn slid off her high heels and shrugged out of her blazer.

"What did you guys find out?" Sam asked without turning around.

"Honestly, not much. Just that Tony Giles saw a pale, red-eyed woman standing over his bed in the middle of the night. She vanished into thin air, and the next day he was dead."

Sam raised an eyebrow at her over his shoulder. "Well… that's something."

Lynn nodded. "Yeah. Enough to be an actual hunt, I guess. We didn't get much more out of Karen Giles because your insensitive brother managed to totally alienate her."

"Hey," Dean protested, stepping quite suddenly out of the bathroom. Lynn jumped. "Who are you calling insensitive?"

"You," Lynn retorted, smirking. "Always you."

Dean huffed. Sam laughed into his freshly poured cup of coffee. Dean made his way over to Jayne's bed and Lynn grabbed a pair of jeans and a tee shirt before heading towards the bathroom herself.

"So, what's the next step?" Sam asked before she could duck inside.

Lynn shrugged. "Figure out who the ghost is."

"Then we salt and burn her ass," Dean finished. "I say we break into the crime scene later tonight, go through Tony's stuff… see if there's a clue."

Sam nodded and shrugged. "Sounds like a plan."

He returned to his coffee. Dean took a seat on Jayne's bed and tried shaking her awake. He was surprisingly gentle for someone so clearly pissed.

Lynn swallowed and ducked into the bathroom. She shut the door swiftly behind her. The sight of them being all… _touchy_… left her with a bad taste in her mouth, and she didn't fully understand why. Part of Lynn was annoyed that her sister wouldn't just admit to her what was going on between them. The other part of her was… well, she didn't know exactly. Guilty, certainly. Jealous, probably. She felt a little left out, if she was being totally honest.

It was probably best for everyone if she wasn't totally honest.

* * *

><p>"So I gave Karen a hug," Sam concluded his story. "Told her to call me if she needed anything. That was it. End of story."<p>

The detective narrowed her eyes. "And where was Jayne in all this?"

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Look, Dean met her while I was at school. Sometimes she meets us places. He misses her, you know? She wanted to be here for Dean, but Karen didn't know her so she didn't come with us to the house."

The detective tapped her fingers impatiently on the table. "Sam, I am trying to help you here. But you have _got_ to be honest with me. Where's the other woman?"

Sam frowned incredulously at her. "What? What other woman?"

"We have an eyewitness – someone who saw _four_ people breaking into Tony Giles's office last night. Not three. _Four._ Two men fitting yours and your brother's descriptions, and _two_ women: one matching Jayne's description, and one who seems to have vanished overnight."

She reached into her folder and pulled out another report. "Approximately 5'3", with black hair, most likely Hispanic," she read aloud. "Where is she, Sam? _Who_ is she?"

Everything felt like it was falling down around him, but he maintained the illusion of control. Stuck to his carefully rehearsed story, took a deep breath to steady himself… maintained eye contact with the policewoman.

"Ok, look," Sam backtracked. "I don't know who you're talking about. Maybe the witness got it wrong. I mean… ok, fine, Karen called us later; said that there was some stuff she wanted from Tony's office, but that the police weren't letting her in. Like a picture of the two of them in Paris, and some other stuff. So the three of us promised we'd get it for her. Look, it was wrong to enter a crime scene, but she gave us the key!"

* * *

><p><em>Twelve hours earlier…<em>

It was hours after their talk with Karen Giles, and now Lynn found herself standing outside the suites that housed Tony Giles's law office. Everyone save the night janitor had gone home for the day, and the building was mostly dark, lit only by the dim glow of exit lights.

Dean was kneeling on the concrete, picking the lock. Sam was standing near the circle of the nearest light, keeping watch. Lynn stood over Dean's back, rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited impatiently to get inside.

Jayne lounged on the wall to Dean's left, looking totally bored and not at all like she had fifteen stitches in her side.

Lynn glared at her stepsister and huffed, blowing hair out of her eyes. She waited for someone to ask what was wrong so she could go off on a tangent about how Jayne was still hurt and needed rest and that she definitely should have stayed at the motel instead of participating in this latest bout of breaking and entering.

Nobody asked, and so Lynn stewed silently until Dean popped the door open.

The four of them filed into the suite, checked the hallway for the janitor, and then made their way down to Giles's office. His door was easy to find, as it was the only one covered in yellow crime scene tape. Dean picked that lock too, and the four of them ducked under the yellow tape and entered the room. Sam was last, and he gently shut the door behind them. Flashlights came out and clicked on, and the four of them spread out, each headed to their own corner of the rectangular room. There were three separate spaces, made to look like they were rooms within a room. It was all frosted glass and blank gray walls. The first antechamber was a waiting space, carpeted, with black leather chairs lining the walls. It led directly into a second chamber, where more black leather chairs sat around a glass monstrosity of a desk, situated in front of two windows hung with heavy white blinds. Lynn presumed the second chamber was Tony Giles's office.

Sam led the way into the second chamber. Lynn stepped in behind him and froze; her stomach turning. Dark red blood stained the floor and the walls in the left hand corner, just inside the entryway.

"Hey," Sam announced, shining his light on the stain. "Anthony Giles's body was found right about here."

Way to state the obvious. Lynn rolled her eyes. "Duh," she heard her sister grumble. Jayne was lurking behind her, half in the entryway that led to third space. She was lounging on a whole new wall this time, and making a sour face at Sam's back. Lynn rolled her eyes at Jayne too. Behind Jayne, Lynn could see more seating in the next room, and more glass desktops, and several black and white file cabinets lining an entire wall.

Sam dug his copy of the police report from his jacket and shined his flashlight on the document. "Throat slashed so deep part of his spinal cord was missing," he read aloud.

Dean whistled, pushing his way past all of them to shine his flashlight on the far wall. "So what do we think? Vengeful spirit, underline vengeful?"

"Yeah, maybe," Sam conceded. "I mean, he _did_ see that woman at the foot of his bed."

He rounded the glass desk and took a seat in the black leather chair behind it. Lynn made one final disgusted face at the big red splotch in the corner and then headed over to the desk as well. Jayne kept leaning on her wall, but Dean headed for the printer by the window and shined his flashlight on the paper tray.

"Here, look at this," he suddenly announced, thrusting one of the papers towards Sam and Lynn. Sam took the page and frowned down at it, so Lynn immediately leaned as far over the desk as she could in order to look at it too. Line after line of the same un-capitalized, unpunctuated words filled the page: _danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps danashulpsdanashulps…_

"Dana Shulps," Sam read aloud. "What is that? A name?"

Jayne appeared at Lynn's shoulder like a shadow, and Lynn nearly leap a foot in the air. Her sister took the paper from Sam and looked it over as Dean continued rifling through the pages in the packed printer tray.

"I don't know," Dean replied. "But it's everywhere. I guess all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, huh?"

He laughed at his own joke, and Lynn promptly rolled her eyes. She glanced at Sam, who was frowning intently down at the glass desk, shining his light on it. Lynn frowned down at the desk too, seeing smudges all across the glass surface. Sam leaned over and exhaled harshly. His breath fogged against the glass, and the smudges turned into words.

_DANA SHULPS._

"Wow," he announced. "I'd say we've officially crossed over into weird."

"Maybe Giles knew her," Dean suggested.

"Or maybe it's the name of our pale, red-eyed mystery girl," Sam countered.

"So we should look for that name in his files," Lynn interjected. "See if she was a client, or someone on the other side of a case… he _was_ an attorney…"

"Sounds good," Dean cut her off, heading into the next room. Lynn watched him haul a stack of folders out of the nearest file cabinet. Then he returned to Giles's office, where he slapped the files down on the glass desk. "Let's see what we can see."

Soon they were all absorbed in reviewing the countless files. Sam was the only one without a stack of paperwork in front of him, as he was trying to hack into Giles's computer. Lynn had taken a seat across from him, and was thumbing her way through the most easily accessible folders and paperwork. In the next room, Dean was rifling through the file cabinets and Jayne was seated at a small table, reading the folders he sent her way.

Her sister looked exhausted, and that familiar feeling of guilt tinged with annoyance took hold of her again. Lynn forced herself to stop looking at Jayne and refocused her energy on the papers in hand. They were inside the office for what felt like hours, looking through the papers and files while Sam continued fiddling with the computer. It wasn't really hours, Lynn discovered once she'd finished her stack of paperwork, but the time had certainly dragged on.

Dean slammed a cabinet drawer by the door, jerking them all out of their boredom-induced comas. "There's not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere!" he exploded. "There's not a D. Shulps. Or any other kind of freaking Shulps!"

Lynn sighed. "Yeah, I noticed."

"Great," Sam grumbled.

"What have you got?" Dean demanded.

"Nothing," Sam replied. "No Dana Shulps has ever lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years at least."

"So what now?"

"Well, I think I'm pretty close to cracking Giles's password. Maybe there's something in his personal files, you know?"

"By close, you mean…?"

Sam shrugged. "Thirty minutes, maybe?"

Lynn felt like slamming her forehead into the desk and going to sleep. Dean echoed her sentiments aloud, sighing harshly and flopping down into the black leather chair beside hers. "Awesome. So I guess we get to just… hang out."

Sam didn't seem the least bit concerned about any of that. He went right back to typing away on Giles's computer. Lynn sighed too, perching an elbow on the arm of her chair and burying her face in her hand. She was starting to get a headache. A brief glance around Dean's back showed Jayne still sitting in the next room, except now she was leaning back in her chair, her feet resting on the table, with her eyes closed and her fingers folded over her stomach.

Dean was quiet beside her for all of ten seconds. Then he started making weird, popping, clucking sounds with his tongue against his cheek. Lynn grimaced, shooting him a glare without moving her forehead from her hand. Dean took no notice, although she did see Jayne slowly open her eyes and raise an eyebrow in Dean's direction.

Finally, Dean made a horrible, loud, spitting sound with the air in his cheeks. To be honest, it echoed through the room like the world's loudest shart. Lynn groaned, rolling her eyes and burying her face in both hands.

"Dude!" Sam snapped, annoyed. "Seriously?"

"All right," Dean said, getting to his feet. "I'm going to go see Karen again and see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps, huh?"

"Great," Sam drawled sarcastically.

"Who's coming?" Dean asked.

"I will," Jayne spoke up for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Both Sam and Dean glanced at her in surprise. Lynn bit her lip, but Jayne ignored everybody, getting slowly to her feet and then sauntering towards the exit. Dean shrugged and followed, but not before shining his flashlight into Sam's eyes.

"Keep going, Sparky," he quipped, and then he ducked out the door, right on Jayne's heels.

Sam glowered at his back, un-amused. Then he returned to the computer.

Lynn sank lower in her chair and propped her head up with her hand. She was bored and starting to feel sleepy. Sam was intent on the computer screen, but seemingly no closer to hacking into Giles's personal files than he was before. She sat patiently for what felt like eons, to no avail. Lynn sighed. She should have left with Jayne and Dean.

Sam raised an eyebrow at her. "You know, you don't have to stay," he pointed out.

She glared at him. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Immediately, he was on the defensive. "No, of course not."

Silence. Sam's fingers clacked against the computer keys.

"I'm in," he announced suddenly, and Lynn jumped at the break in the stillness.

"Oh," she said, sitting up straighter. "Good."

He continued typing, moving the mouse across the glass desktop, his eyes staying intent on the monitor. Lynn leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees. Sam was quiet, and she was still bored.

"Anything?" she prompted.

Sam shook his head. "Not yet."

She was pretty sure she heard a dismissal somewhere in there. Something along the lines of 'shut up, Lynn, I'm busy.' She didn't like it, even if she somewhat understood it. He _was_ busy, but she was bored and antsy and tired. The day was dragging long, and she was having trouble staying in it. Her mind kept wandering back to Brooklyn, and god, she needed some sort of distraction.

He used to be a great distraction.

"So, what do you think?" she asked. "Ex-girlfriend? Ex-wife? Jilted mistress?"

Sam screwed up his face incredulously. "What?"

Lynn rolled her eyes. "Dana Shulps, dummy. Who do you think she is?"

"I'm not actually sure."

He was already back to the computer, tuning her out once again. Lynn sighed, snagging her lower lip between her teeth.

"Well, you've got to have a theory."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What's _your_ theory?"

"I think she was his mistress and she threatened to tell his wife. So he killed her. And then she killed him."

He raised the other eyebrow. "That's… something."

She could tell he was already returning to Giles's personal files. He was also doing that thing where he was trying not to act like he thought she was crazy, but totally still thought she was crazy. Lynn frowned at him, but his attention was solely focused on the computer screen and he paid her no mind.

The silence that followed felt like it lasted eons. Lynn slumped down low in her chair again. She sighed loudly, but gave up when Sam didn't even glance at her. Instead, she resigned herself to waiting patiently.

Finally, Sam shut down the computer. "Nothing," he told her. "No Dana Shulps, no D. Shulps, no any kind of Shulps. I don't get it."

"Me either," Lynn agreed, getting too quickly to her feet. "Let's bail."

Sam chuckled slightly at that and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. Lynn led the way towards the exit and he followed close behind. "Hey," he said softly. "You still ok?"

She tensed. "Yep. I'm fine."

"You sure? I know what happened back in Brooklyn was pretty intense. I just want to make sure…"

"I said I'm fine," she snapped, cutting him short. "Look, Sam, no offense, I just really don't want to fucking talk about it."

She didn't. He was supposed to be a distraction, not bring her attention directly back to the thing she wanted to forget. At the same time, she wanted to remember and suffer and be yelled at and blamed and not forgiven. It was too confusing to have about ten conflicting feelings floating around in her already spinning brain, and she wanted to turn the whole damn thing off.

Sam was on the defensive again, holding his hands up in the universal position of surrender. "Ok. That's fine. Sorry."

He didn't get it. He was pissed at her for snapping. Lynn tensed again, rankling under his annoyance. "Look, sorry I'm snapping at you, but it's a sensitive subject, Sam."

"Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, you shouldn't have!" she shouted, spinning around to fully confront him.

He froze, glancing around the deserted hallway of the executive suites building. "Can we _not_ have this fight in the middle of the building we just broke into?"

She huffed. "I guess you think that's funny."

"Actually, I was being serious…"

"I'm going to walk back, ok Sam?"

"We both have to walk back… Dean took the car…"

"Well, you're walking by yourself. I'm taking the scenic route."

She turned away from him and marched towards the double glass doors that led to the paved, shrub lined walkway outside. Sam didn't move. "Lynn, that's not safe," he protested, his voice deepening an octave in frustration.

"Don't talk safety to the girl with the Glock in her waistband, Sam."

She could not understand why she was so pissed at him. Suddenly, she just was. She was pissed at him and at everyone else too. She was pissed at the whole wide freaking world, and she wanted to be alone and yet surrounded by people at the same time.

Lynn slid out the glass door they'd propped open when they'd broken in earlier, and then instantly disappeared around the corner of the building, avoiding the streetlamps and slivered moonlight in order to fade into the shadows.

Maybe, if she let herself stop and really think about everything, she might realize she was actually pissed at herself.

But Lynn was in no mood to think about _anything_, especially not what happened in Brooklyn.

* * *

><p>"Then Dean went back to Karen's place to check up on her," Sam wrapped up. "I mean, you know… she'd been pretty upset earlier…"<p>

"So why didn't you go with him?"

Sam shrugged, half-fumbling with an explanation that wasn't really an explanation. "I just… went back to the motel. I… uh… how'd you know I was there, by the way?"

The detective stalked towards him, taking two tight, irritated steps in his direction before leaning forward on the table again. "We found the motel matchbook on your brother when we arrested him," she snapped, showcasing an evidence bag with the matchbook in question sealed tightly inside. Then she tossed the evidence back on the table. "Let's quit fooling around. Now you were with your brother the whole time you were in Baltimore. _Why_ separate now? Because your brother and his girlfriend _left_ you to go kill Karen."

"They didn't kill anyone," Sam returned calmly, lifting his head to meet the detective's eyes.

_Smack! _The tiny policewoman's hand cracked against the table hard enough to echo. Sam flinched. "I heard the 9-1-1 call!" she yelled at him. "Karen was terrified! She said someone was in the house!"

"I don't know, ok? There must have been someone else! Someone must have gotten there first, before them!"

"Why did Jayne go over there at all? You said she didn't know Karen!"

"She was supposed to wait in the car!"

"And the other woman? You still haven't told me where she is! _Who_ she is!"

"I told you…"

"Don't feed me that line again about the witness making a mistake!" she interrupted him fiercely. "Let's level with each other, all right? I think I've got a pretty good idea who she is, so how about I guess, and you answer yes or no? I think she's Jayne's stepsister, Lynnette Juarez. You know _exactly _who she is, Sam. You _and_ Lynnette were brought in for questioning in St. Louis back when your brother was first accused of torturing those young women!"

Silence followed her accusation. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The detective was glaring at him, her chest heaving up and down.

"I don't know where she is," he admitted finally. He didn't know, either. He hadn't heard from her since their fight at Giles's office; the fight he still didn't understand, and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to, either. "But look, she wasn't a part of this either, all right?"

The detective stared at him for a long, tense moment. Then she gathered up her files and headed for the door. "Until you can give me something useful," she told him in a cold, clipped tone. "The deal's off the table."

She stepped into the hall and locked the door behind her. Sam sat in the chair at the table, alone in the sterile, dimly lit room, and stared dismally down at his cold cup of nasty coffee. Wherever Lynn was, he hoped she'd figured out what had happened to the rest of them and that she was working on a seriously brilliant plan to get them all out of this situation.

They were definitely going to need a seriously brilliant plan.

* * *

><p><em>Ten hours earlier…<em>

Dean parked the car a few doors down from the Giles home, as far from the evenly spaced streetlamps as he could get. He cut the engine and glanced around the dark, deserted street. The houses were dark and the place felt empty.

Jayne shifted in the seat beside him. He glanced at her and then pocketed his car keys. "You don't have to come in," he told her.

She snorted. "Whatever, Dean."

He locked his jaw and shook his head as she swung open the car door and stalked out into the night air. Sighing, he followed.

"You should be back at the motel," he called after her. She was already halfway to the Giles house. "You know… resting… recuperating… all those 'r' words."

"I'm fine," she practically growled at him.

Dean rolled his eyes at her back. "Yeah, ok," he mumbled.

She was walking too fast up ahead of him. Dean jogged to her side and kept pace. "You're pushing yourself a little hard, don't you think?" he asked.

"You're being really annoying about this."

"No, _you're_ being really annoying about this."

"It's not like I broke my leg or something. I'm _fine_. It's just a couple stitches. No big deal."

Something snapped. Dean stopped short and grabbed her by the arm. "It _is_ a big deal."

Jayne tried to shrug him off, but he pulled her tighter. "It's a big deal," he growled. "It's not just a couple stitches; it was _fifteen_. Fifteen!"

She stared at him a moment. "All right," she murmured in a low, toneless voice. "It wasn't a couple; it was fifteen."

"You needed a blood transfusion!" he half-shouted at her, forgetting the houses around them. "A big one! Your brother had to donate! You almost bled out _on_ me!"

He was holding her by the shoulders now, angry without really understanding why. The look on her face wasn't making him feel better. She simply stared at him with raised brows and said nothing.

Dean narrowed his eyes, wrinkling his brow. "You could have died," he told her, and it was both an accusation and a revelation.

Jayne swallowed. He watched her throat hitch. Something made him want to pull her into him and kiss her senseless. She pressed her palm into his chest before he could act on the impulse, her fingers curling into his shirt, and pushed him back slightly.

"I didn't," she pointed out. "I'm fine. Just… stop worrying so much, all right?"

She disentangled herself from him then and continued towards the Giles house. Dean watched her walk away, the greenish glow of the streetlamps bouncing off her pale blonde hair. He felt this weird sort of raw ache in his chest, and he couldn't put a name to what it was or why it was there.

Something was different. Or maybe it wasn't different; maybe it was all the same, and he was just now waking up to it. Dean shook his head slightly, steeling himself. Then he followed her down the street.

"Karen!" he called, knocking on the door once they reached the front stoop. "You in there?"

There was no answer. Dean waited a moment, and then he proceeded to pick the lock. Jayne stood watch, her eyes roving up and down the road. When the door was open, Dean led the way into the front hall. It was pitch black in the house, and when Dean flicked the switch by the door, nothing happened.

"Stay close," he grunted at Jayne, and immediately regretted it. If she was annoyed, she didn't voice it. She also didn't stay close. He headed up the stairs, but Jayne wandered away from the front hall, taking a look around the first floor. Dean shook his head angrily, cussing at her under his breath.

Upstairs was as dark as downstairs, and the stillness of the place felt _wrong_. Dean moved cautiously down the hallway. The first door on his left was slightly ajar. He pushed it open all the way and poked his head inside. He winced.

Karen Giles lay unmoving on the bedroom floor in a puddle of dark red blood.

Dean swallowed, entering the room. When he got closer, he could see her throat had been slashed, just as violently as her husband's before her.

"Oh, god," he whispered, shaking his head. His stomach turned. A few steps closer, and then he noticed the stack of freshly inked pages waiting in the printer on the desk. He grabbed a sheet.

_danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps danashulpsdanashulps…. _

The name repeated itself over and over on the page, the letters jammed together, just like the pages upon pages they'd found in Tony Giles' office. Dean frowned at the paper.

"Seriously, what the hell?" he muttered.

The bedroom door creaked behind him and he whirled around, on the defensive. Jayne was standing in the doorway. "It's just me," she whispered.

He took a step to the side. Jayne could see Karen perfectly from the doorway, and her face fell as she walked towards him. "Shit," she swore, sucking in her cheek and shaking her head at the body on the floor.

Dean handed her the page. "Check it out. Dana Shulps again."

Her hand closed around the paper and she practically glared at the thing. "More of this? I just… don't get it."

"Me either."

Jayne frowned at Karen's body, and stepped closer. Dean took her lead. Her eyes were on the woman's hands, and Dean frowned too when he saw the odd purple bruising around Karen's wrists. Jayne moved like she was going to kneel beside her and then flinched, her hand moving to her injured side. Dean's hand on her back stayed her, and he went to his knees on the floor in her stead. Blood smeared on his hand when he took Karen's arm and inspected the bruise.

He didn't hear them enter, and neither did Jayne. They both heard the cock of the guns, however, and that's when they turned around. Two police officers stood in the doorway, weapons trained on them both.

"Freeze!" a brunette policewoman ordered. "Stay on your knees. Hands where I can see them. _Now! _You, hands on your head, kneel beside him. I said, _on your knees!_"

Dean slowly raised his hands. Jayne put her hands up as requested and slowly, wincingly tried to kneel as ordered. It wasn't fast enough, and the officers panicked.

"Down!" the policewoman barked. Her partner, who'd been on his way to cuff them, grabbed Jayne and shoved her down the rest of the way. She grimaced and nearly cried out, wobbling to one side and landing on her hip instead of her knees.

"Hey!" Dean reacted, starting to get up without thinking it through. "Watch her!"

"Don't move!" the policewoman yelled at him, and he froze yet again.

The officer at their side cuffed Jayne roughly and she winced almost imperceptibly. In fact, Dean was pretty certain he was the only one who noticed. "She's hurt," he barked at the male officer. The man turned wide, confused brown eyes on him, and Dean decided he hated his stupid face. "Check her stitches!"

Both officers ignored him. "Cuff him," the policewoman demanded.

The policeman obeyed, grabbing his wrists and slapping on the cuffs. Dean twitched as he was arrested, annoyed and worried and very aware of the fact that they were both fucked. "On her right side," he told the officer. "You could have ripped them."

He was ignored. "Take him," the woman ordered. The policeman hauled him to his feet by his elbow and dragged him towards the door. Dean looked over his shoulder at Jayne, who hadn't moved from the floor. Already he could see a small patch of red on her wife beater, barely visible under the lapels of her button down shirt. His stomach twisted.

"She's bleeding!" he snapped at the officers.

The policeman shoved him into the hall and led him towards the stairs, ignoring his complaints and reciting his Miranda rights. Dean rolled his eyes and let himself be pushed. He was pissed, and it felt like his stomach had migrated into his throat. Maybe the police woman was smarter than the guy arresting him. Maybe she'd have Jayne checked out.

None of this would be happening right now if Jayne would have just taken it easy like he'd told her; if she hadn't felt the need to prove she was a badass and that fifteen stitches and a blood transfusion couldn't keep her down.

He just wished she would have listened to him and gone back to the motel.


	16. Bad Omen

Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: _Supernatural _is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to angeleyenc, 123, ColtFan165, Spelllesswonder29, AshlynPaige92, WinchesterDixonBros, Callalily8, Mar, BSPunk, missxlove, Guest, BooksEqualsLife, SwAlLoWiNg DaNtE, Maddie Northman, Guest, Montanasmith5897, watch-me-run (loved the awesomely long review!), Emily and Guest for all the great reviews!

Sorry for the huge wait, you guys. This chapter was just… ugh. There were bouts of writer's block, followed by long periods of procrastination, and even now that I've finished the chapter, I'm still not entirely happy with it. Hope you enjoy it anyway, and I'll try to be faster about the next update.

* * *

><p>Chapter 16: Bad Omen<p>

Lynn had spent much longer than necessary picking through dark, deserted backstreets on her way to the motel. It wasn't safe, of course, but she was armed and she was used to dealing with nasty jerks anyway. Some thugs in an alleyway weren't going to scare her after all the demons and monsters she'd faced. Really, nothing in an alleyway was going to scare her after what she'd found hiding in Brooklyn.

She met no thugs, however. It was just her and the smoggy green city streetlamps, blocking out any stars that might have been overhead. For some reason, being alone in the city at night made her uncomfortable, and not because she was nervous about what might be lurking in a dark alleyway. She had wanted to be alone when she'd run out on Sam, but once she'd gotten her solitude she regretted it. There were cars flying up and down the main roads, but she mostly stuck to the side streets, which were empty and silent. From far away she could hear snatches of music, or laughter, or people yelling. There were car horns and squealing tires, too. Every new sound made her jump. She thought about Brooklyn again, and a creepy crawly sensation skittered up her spine. Lynn thought she wanted to be alone, and in some ways she did. She was in no fit mood for company or conversation. But the loneliness was too much for her, out in the chilly night air. She needed people around her, buffering her from the thoughts that ran through her head.

She needed to stop thinking so damn much. That was the real problem.

The wind picked up, tossing her hair straight behind her. Lynn shivered, taking a deep steadying breath. She regretted taking this hunt; she really, really did, and for the first time since they'd agreed to investigate she wondered if it wasn't actually because of Jayne. Sure, Jayne needed time off to recover. She shouldn't be hunting right now. But Lynn began to wonder if maybe Jayne wasn't the only one who needed to regroup. Maybe Lynn shouldn't be hunting either.

She turned onto the main road, and some of the creepy-crawly, lonely feelings dissipated. There were cars flying by her, honking their horns and grinding pavement under their tires. Other people were walking down the sidewalk, and there were bright neon signs and parking lights overhead. She could smell fast food. Up ahead, her motel's neon sign blinked at her from the parking lot. Lynn headed up the street towards the long rundown motel, but stopped short when she saw the flashing blue and red lights.

There were cops all over the parking lot. Lynn swallowed, a suddenly developing anxious lump in her throat, and took a deep steadying breath. As usual, their motel was the shadiest one on the strip, and logically Lynn couldn't be certain yet that the cop cars were there because of them. Still, she was certain. She knew it in a way she couldn't explain.

She whipped out her cell phone and started calling people: Jayne, then Sam, and then Dean because neither Sam nor Jayne picked up. Dean didn't pick up either, and Lynn cussed, slapping the cell phone shut and jamming it into her jeans. She moved a little closer to the motel, her eyes roving the top floor passage. From this distance it was hard to tell who was where and what they were doing, but she was fairly certain that the open door the cops were currently thronging about was the door to their motel room.

Dean's car was nowhere to be seen in the lot. Lynn remembered Sam parking the truck behind the building when he'd arrived; at that early hour of the morning, their sleazy motel had been surprisingly full. She didn't head into the front lot; instead she walked around behind the building next door and approached the motel from the back. Her sister's truck was sitting at the back of the lot, facing the gas station behind their motel. Lynn didn't have the keys – she thought Sam might still have them, actually – so she jimmied open the lock with her pocketknife despite knowing she was risking Jayne's ire and then she knelt down under the dashboard and hotwired the truck.

When the engine roared to life, Lynn flinched. It was too loud and sure to catch the cops' attention; her sister needed to invest in a new freaking muffler. She glanced over her shoulder, but the cops were still on the other side of the building. The only giveaway was the bright light in her motel room window. She saw an officer's back framed against the harsh motel lamplight.

She shifted into neutral and let the truck glide over the grassy patch between the motel parking lot and the back lot of the gas station behind them. When the tires hit the crunchy gravel-asphalt mix of the gas station's crumbling parking lot, she shifted into drive and swung around to the front of the station. Lynn turned onto the street and immediately swung into the nearest parallel space on the side of the road. Then she reached behind the bench seat and turned on the police scanner Jayne had concealed under a nasty old blanket.

Lynn flipped through the frequencies until she found one that was helpful. _"Suspects detained inside 402 Elm Lane… en route to precinct now. One injured, will require medical attention, sent to Baltimore General…"_

402 Elm Lane was Karen Giles's address. Lynn let the scanner play, although she was only half-listening to any further information being relayed on the frequency. She had no doubt the suspects in question were Dean and her sister. Breaking into the police headquarters was going to be a nightmare, but she supposed Baltimore General wouldn't be too hard for her to slink in and out.

She bit her lip, fussing with the cords on her sweatshirt. Her stomach was turning like she'd eaten undercooked chicken. There was no doubt that Jayne was the injured party. She probably pulled her stitches, just like Dean had kept saying she would. Lynn rolled her eyes and massaged her temple. Everything was all jumbled up and messy again, and she just wished that for once she could line it all up in an orderly fashion and make everything work right.

Her sister only had those stitches in the first place because… no, no, _no_, she was not going down that road right now. Repress, ignore, _deny_.

Maybe she couldn't make her stupid shambling world line up in a way that made perfect sense, but she could definitely plan a jailbreak that made sense. Well, maybe not a jailbreak… but an escape from a hospital.

Already outlining the plan in her mind, Lynn shifted out of park and into drive, tore away from the curb, and followed the blue H signs posted along the main road.

* * *

><p>Dean glared at the ceiling, tapping his fingers restlessly against the metal table. He'd been locked in the interrogation room for hours now. His wrists were tightly handcuffed to the table in front him, and he sat facing the long two-way mirror that fooled nobody. Dean wondered who was watching him now; the smug, frat-boy homicide detective who'd been interrogating him earlier, or some other suit?<p>

The lights were blue and flickering, and they might as well not exist for all the good they were doing in the dim, depressing, institutional room. It was almost completely dark in there, and the walls were made of a deep, charcoal gray cinderblock. Dean sighed, puffing his cheeks full of air and letting it out slowly though pursed lips. He went back to tapping his fingers on the stainless steel tabletop.

He was in a lot of trouble, and he knew it. So was Jayne, by the sounds of things. The smug cop from before had made all of that pretty clear when he'd sauntered into the room with a thick file of crap and started listing off every little thing Dean had ever done, right down to the murder he'd been accused of back in St. Louis and his obviously faked death. Now they were trying to stick both Karen and Tony Giles's murders on him and Jayne... and Jayne was being accused of killing Maria Rodriguez and Mr. Chen the landlord back in Brooklyn.

Seriously, this job was getting to be pretty damn thankless.

After reading off his little list of crimes and dropping a few smartass Bonnie and Clyde references, the cop had got up to leave. Dean had mostly ignored him throughout, not responding to any of the accusations or rising to any of the bait. He'd given the guy a few smirks, and that was it. He only said one thing, just as the detective was heading for the door.

"So, tell me… did the donut patrol ever get 'Bonnie's' stitches fixed? Cause that whole thing looked like police brutality to me."

He smirked at the detective's annoyed, disgusted expression. "You're a real smartass," the cop told him.

Then he left, without telling Dean anything he'd wanted to know. Dean could have kicked himself; he knew they weren't going to tell him anything. They were just going to let him stew in his juices and worry about his future, and about Jayne. But he'd had to ask. He couldn't _not_ ask.

Now he was also getting bored and antsy, eyeing his surroundings critically in hopes of an opportunity for escape. No such luck. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and began to reconsider the words Dana Shulps.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, reviewing the case in his head, but suddenly, the door to the interrogation room opened again.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean looked up at the address, finding a small, brown-haired man with a lined, weathered face and bulbous nose sliding around the door. He had a briefcase in one hand and he was wearing a cheap, pin-striped blue suit.

"Yeah," he greeted the man.

He earned himself a small, nervous smile. "I'm Jeff Krauss. I'm with the public defender's office."

Dean frowned.

Jeff Krauss smiled wider. "I'm your lawyer."

"Oh," Dean returned, deadpan. "Thank God. I'm saved."

His lawyer pulled a chair up to the table and plopped his briefcase down. Dean watched him bustle about, awkwardly setting himself up for their lawyer-client meeting. "Hey, can I steal a pen from you?" he asked the man. "And some paper?"

"Sure," Jeff replied, handing over the requested items. Dean immediately slid the small pad of lined white paper towards him and started writing. "Well, the police haven't found a weapon yet, so that's good," his lawyer informed him. Dean didn't even look up. "But, uh… they got your prints and literally blood on your hands… and, uh… with your police record…"

_Dana Shulps. Dan Shulpas. Land Pushas. Supash Land. _Dean continued scribbling furiously on the pad as Jeff tried to explain to him why he was screwed. Honestly, Dean didn't care what Jeff had to say. He already knew he was screwed, and he really didn't need this law school reject telling him what was up.

"Mr. Winchester?" Jeff asked incredulously. "What are you doing?"

"I think it's an anagram," Dean replied, still writing.

"A what?"

"An anagram. Same letters, different words."

_Push Landas... Plush Danas…_

"Do me a favor?" Dean asked gruffly, finishing his scribbles and sliding the pad of paper towards the lawyer. "See if you recognize any of these words? You know, local names, places, anything like that."

Jeff Krauss was giving him another incredulous look. "Do you understand how serious these charges are?"

Dean smirked. "I'm handcuffed to a table. Yeah, I get it. Humor me. Take a quick look."

The lawyer sighed but did as requested. He looked over the list, laughed slightly, and made some scribbles of his own. "Well, I don't know about SUP, but Ashland is a street. It's not far from here."

Jeff slid the paper back towards him. Dean frowned down at the other man's edits. _Supash Land_ had become _Sup__(Ash Land)_. "A street?" he asked, tearing off a new slip of paper.

His lawyer nodded, and then tried to turn the conversation back to the case. "Let's start with where you were the night Anthony Giles died."

"Can you get in to see my brother?" Dean asked, already writing again.

"Mr. Winchester," poor old Jeff insisted. "You could be facing the death penalty here."

"Yeah, thanks for the law review, Matlock," Dean retorted sarcastically. He folded his note in half and handed the paper to the lawyer. "But if you want to help me, I need you to see my brother."

Jeff blinked at him. The lawyer clearly thought he was certifiable. Dean could not care less. Finally, Jeff shrugged and took the proffered note. "All right," he murmured hesitantly, getting to his feet and collecting his briefcase. "I'll go see your brother. But I'll be back, Mr. Winchester, and then we seriously need to start discussing your case."

Dean smirked. "Sure thing."

Jeff was nearly out the door when Dean stopped him with yet another request. "Hey, wait, uh… can you get in to see my…?"

He trailed off, at a loss for words. Dean wasn't sure what to call her. Ever since he'd been arrested, the detectives had taken to calling Jayne his girlfriend, all smug and sarcastic and mocking. It didn't sound right that way; he wasn't sure it sounded right at all. Honestly, in spite of everything that had happened between them recently, Dean had never thought of her as his girlfriend. He wasn't sure he could say it out loud.

"My friend," he decided on lamely. "The woman they brought in with me. Jayne Gibson."

Jeff frowned deeper. "Well… I suppose that can be arranged…"

"Great. Just, uh… can you tell me if she's ok?"

The lawyer stared at him for a moment. Slowly, he nodded. "Sure," he agreed softly.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Jeff ducked out the door. He watched the door fall shut behind his lawyer, and was suddenly ten times more aware of how quiet and sterile and hopeless the interrogation room really was. Dean swallowed and pushed away all the unsettling feelings taking hold of him. He had a plan to put into action.

"Hey!" he barked at the two-way mirror. "Who's a guy got to sleep with around here if he wants to confess?"

That ought to get their attention.

* * *

><p>Jayne could not understand why the hell she was still handcuffed to the damn examination table at the local hospital. Her wound was re-stitched and bandaged, and there was no need for her to still be there. Not that she was particularly anxious to be tossed in jail while the Baltimore PD threw together a case against her that left her rotting in a maximum security prison for the rest of her life… unless they slapped her with the death penalty. And considering the kinds of charges she was looking at, the death penalty wouldn't even surprise her at this point.<p>

Still, the time had come for the cops to haul her ass out of the hospital and down to the precinct, where they'd proceed to lock her ass up in interrogation or a holding cell. That was procedure, right? So what the hell was she still doing here? It had to be an interrogation tactic, she decided with irritation. They were trying to sweat her out. Well, it wasn't going to work. By the end of this hospital stint, she was merely going to be annoyed, not worn down.

The door to her exam room creaked open. Jayne glared up at the newcomers. The exceedingly tall, balding officer on guard duty stood outside her door. Beside him was a short, surprising curvy young woman in aqua scrubs, wearing a surgical mask over her face. She was pushing an empty wheelchair. Jayne raised an eyebrow at her.

Her guard stomped across the room. He wasn't as old as his tired face and thinning hair suggested he was, and Jayne wondered briefly, without any real curiosity, if he had bad genes or a bad job to blame for it all.

"You're going in for some routine tests," he informed her, snorting as though he found the whole thing to be a huge waste of taxpayer dollars. She couldn't argue there. "Nurse, you can come on through."

The tiny black-haired nurse followed instructions, pushing the wheelchair right up to Jayne with zero fear. That was a nice change from the shaking-in-terror intern who'd just barely managed to re-stitch her side. The officer unlocked the handcuff fastened to the exam table and took her roughly by the arm, hauling her off the table and pushing her into the wheelchair. Jayne rolled her eyes as he made a big show of locking the cuffs to the arm of the chair instead.

Jayne glanced at the nurse again. "What are these tests, anyway?" the officer grunted, obviously annoyed. The nurse began to push her wheelchair towards the door, and the cop followed close behind.

"None of your business," the nurse replied tersely. "There _is_ such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality, even for soon to be convicts."

She was wheeled down the depressingly lit linoleum hall towards another wing of the hospital. The cop followed them all the way. When they reached the correct wing and the nurse ushered Jayne into one of the rooms, the cop tried to follow. Immediately, he was barred from entering by the nurse's thin, tan arm.

"I don't think so, mister," the nurse told him. "Some clothes are coming off for this, and you hanging out in here while that's going on, is not cool."

She shut the door in the cop's face. Jayne could hear a muffled cry of outrage from the other side of the door, and then heavy pounding once the officer realized the nurse had locked the door behind her. Jayne spun her wheelchair around and looked up at the nurse in amusement, raising her eyebrow.

"Hey, Lynn."

Her stepsister jerked her surgical mask from her face and threw it across the room with ill-concealed disgust. "Hey, yourself. I cannot believe you got yourself arrested!"

It was comical, watching Lynn attempt to yell at her while simultaneously trying to be quiet so the police guard wouldn't overhear. The effect it produced was high-pitched and slightly squeaky.

"Yeah, well, here we are," Jayne shrugged. "Believe it."

"Drop the attitude, all right? I risked my butt coming in here after you, and I demand less sarcasm."

Jayne gave her a quick, fond, fairly involuntary half-smile. "Right, sorry. What's the plan?"

Lynn was already kneeling in front of the chair with a bobby pin in hand, picking the tiny lock on Jayne's handcuffs. She jerked her head at something behind Jayne's back. "We're going out through there."

Jayne looked over her shoulder and raised her eyebrow again. "The ventilation shaft?"

"Please, like you have any better ideas."

She tilted her head to the side, reluctantly agreeing. "You're right; I don't."

Lynn had the cuffs off in record time. Jayne got to her feet as Lynn stumbled back up on hers. Her sister frowned at her in concern. "You're ok, right?" Lynn asked worriedly. "The stitches…"

"I got them fixed up," Jayne reassured her. "Everything's fine now."

"Are you sure…?"

"_Yes_."

Lynn sighed in annoyance, scrutinizing Jayne like she didn't really believe her. Jayne couldn't help rolling her eyes. "All right," Lynn muttered, heading for the ventilation shaft. "Let's do this."

Jayne was missing her pocketknife; it had been taken in the arrest. It didn't matter though, because Lynn had brought one of her own. As Jayne watched, Lynn pulled the knife from her scrubs pocket and started unscrewing the vent. She shouldn't be surprised to see Lynn easily removing the cover, and yet she was.

Soon enough, the vent was on the floor and screws were rolling every which way across the linoleum. Lynn slid into the shaft first and then beckoned at Jayne to follow. "We don't have much time," she told her.

Jayne slid in behind her, wincing at the strain that the jump into the shaft put on her new stitches. Shaking it off, she followed her sister as quickly as possible down the ventilation shaft, both of them crawling along the cold metal tube on their hands and knees. To Lynn's credit, she knew where she was going. Jayne followed her through all the twists and turns of the ventilation system, over exam rooms and hallways, and finally down a long chute that led to the bottom floor. Lynn led the way around a few more twists and bends, and finally arrived at a vent that looked into an empty exam room. Jayne watched, impressed, as Lynn removed a small clip that was holding the already unscrewed vent into place, and cleared their passage out of the vents.

"Huh," Jayne commented as Lynn clambered out of the shaft. "You really planned this out."

She climbed out of the shaft too, trying to ignore the pain in her side as she straightened up stiffly. Lynn folded her arms over her chest and glared at her.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked frostily. "Are you implying that I cannot engineer grand escape plans?"

"Obviously not," Jayne returned. "Because you kind of just did."

Her sister's icy exterior melted and a genuine smile spread across Lynn's face. Jayne rolled her eyes and ushered Lynn toward s the door. "Let's go," she prompted.

Lynn nodded in agreement and led the way to the exit. She slowly pushed open the door, checked for passersby, and then stepped out into the hallway, waving at Jayne to follow her. The two of them crept quietly down the hall towards the emergency exit, and Lynn snuck out the door with Jayne on her heels.

The moment they stepped out into the early morning sunlight, Lynn bolted. Jayne jogged after her, racing across the small expanse of courtyard towards a short hedgerow that separated the hospital grounds from one of the surrounding side streets. Lynn vaulted over the hedges and Jayne followed her example. Janis was parked against the curb, several buildings down the road, and both women jogged to where their getaway car was waiting.

"Where's Sam?" Jayne asked in confusion the moment they had clambered into the truck cab and slammed the doors behind them.

"Sam?" Lynn repeated casually, starting up the engine. "Oh, he got arrested too."

Jayne gawked at her. Lynn ignored her gaping and steered the truck jerkily away from the curb. "What?" she demanded. "For what?"

"I don't know, probably accessory to murder or something."

Lynn was not paying any attention to Jayne. She had pulled out into incoming traffic and slammed on the brakes. Now she was speeding down the side street, away from the hospital, and ignoring Jayne's obvious need for an explanation.

"First," Jayne barked. "Watch how you're driving Janis!"

Lynn rolled her eyes.

"Second… Sam and Dean are both in jail?"

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"How are you not?"

Lynn shrugged. "Sam and I separated for awhile last night. I needed some me time, so… anyway, the cops arrested him in our motel room before I got back. I saw the flashing lights in the parking lot, grabbed the truck and bailed."

Jayne stared at her a moment, absorbing the information. Lynn paid her little mind and kept driving recklessly down side streets. Slowly, Jayne leaned back in the passenger seat and tried to relax.

"We've got to get them out," she announced.

"No arguments here," Lynn replied. "Oh, by the way… you're welcome."

Jayne rolled her eyes this time. "Sorry. Thanks for busting me out."

"And saving your ass."

"That part was implied. Where are we going?"

Lynn grinned. "The first motel in the yellow pages, of course."

* * *

><p><em>Hilts – <em>

_It's a __street__. Ashland._

– _McQueen _

Sam repressed a half amused, half annoyed smirk at his brother's brief message. Slowly, he folded the paper over and set it down on the flimsy table. Jeff Kraus continued to stand over him, looking annoyed and confused. "I hope that's meaningful," the public defender announced, resting his briefcase on the table. "But I'd like to discuss your case now."

He wasn't particularly interested in anything Jeff Kraus had to say. The aging lawyer didn't look like he'd be much help anyway. Sam's eyes roved over his kindly, weathered face, his thin, balding hair, and his cheap, wrinkled suit, complete with ugly tie. He looked like a perfectly nice, bumbling older man who would completely crumble if he stepped foot inside a courtroom.

"Sure thing, Matlock," he quipped, gesturing at the empty seat across the table.

The lawyer looked slightly amused but mostly irritated as he took the seat offered to him. "You two really are brothers, aren't you?" he said. He reached over and opened his briefcase. "Now, as you know, the DA might be interested in…"

A knock on the door interrupted whatever legal advice Jeff Kraus might have been about to give him. The female detective from earlier poked her head into the room. Sam thought he remembered her name as Diana.

"We need you," Diana told the lawyer. "With the other one."

Then she stepped back out into the hall. Jeff Kraus stumbled over an apology and quickly excused himself, rushing out the door. Sam watched the door shut behind him, and his eyes fell on the folded note still sitting on the table.

This was going to be his only shot.

* * *

><p>The sterile, depressing interrogation room wasn't exactly swarming with cops, but in that tiny space an extra three people seemed like a crowd. Dean sat tensely at the table, no longer in cuffs, and watched as a beat cop set up a video camera in front of him. Standing at attention two feet to Dean's shoulder was a second beat cop, and lurking behind the camera guy with his back to the two-way mirror and a smug, victorious smirk on his face was the detective that had been interrogating him earlier. Dean heard someone call him Pete.<p>

He could bet there were also plenty of people milling around the room next door, watching through the two-way mirror and waiting to hear him confess to the murders of Karen and Tony Giles. As Dean waited for the cops to finish setting up the camera, the door to the interrogation room swung open and a petite, middle-aged, blonde woman entered the room, her detective badge displayed prominently on the belt of her pantsuit. She was escorting Jeff Kraus, Dean's less than imposing public defender.

"Counselor," Pete greeted Jeff. "Your boy decided to confess."

The lawyer leaned towards Dean in concern. "Mr. Winchester, I would advise against that strongly."

"Talk directly into the camera," Pete ordered. "Start by stating your name."

Dean leaned forward as instructed and smirked into the camera. "My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone. But I know who did."

He looked straight at the two homicide detectives standing behind the camera. The woman looked up at Pete in surprise, but Pete turned away in annoyance and disgust. "Or rather, what did," Dean went on, not wavering in the least. "Of course, I can't be sure, because our investigation was interrupted, but our working theory is that we're looking for some kind of vengeful spirit."

That got a rise of the female detective. She leaned towards him incredulously. "Excuse me?"

"You know," Dean drawled. "Casper the bloodthirsty ghost? Tony Giles saw it. I'll bet you cash money that Karen did too. But you see, the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason, it's trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil ain't easy. Sometimes the spirits… they get things jumbled. You remember red rum. Same concept. Sometimes they leave word fragments. Other times…"

Dean reached into his coat and pulled out the scrap paper Jeff Kraus had lent him, covered in scribble about Dana Shulps. "It's anagrams," he announced. "At first we thought this was a name. Dana Shulps. But now, we think it's a street. Ashland. Whatever's going on, I'm betting it started there."

He concluded the speech with another smirk at the camera, holding his hands up in a ta-da kind of gesture. The smug detective that had been hounding him since his arrest… Pete, whatever… was officially _pissed._

"You arrogant bastard," he spat. "Tony and Karen were good people! And you're making jokes."

"I'm not joking, Paunch."

Pete stalked around the table, glaring at him the whole way. "You murdered them in cold blood, just like that girl in St. Louis!" he thundered.

Dean smirked at the camera again. "Oh, that wasn't me either. That was a shape-shifting creature that only looked like me."

Without warning, Pete snatched him by the lapels of his coat in a fit of rage and slammed him against the cinderblock wall. Dean winced slightly. All the cops around them rushed forward to stop Pete.

"Pete, that is enough!" the female detective ordered.

Pete didn't say or do anything else, but he didn't let go either. Dean smirked and shrugged. "You asked for the truth."

The detective released him harshly, shoving him against the wall a little more, and then stormed away. "Lock his ass up," he commanded as he strode out the door.

One of the beat cops took custody of Dean then, shoving him face first into the wall and slapping the cuffs on him once again. It didn't matter really. The only thing that mattered was that Sam had got his message, and that Sam had gotten out.

* * *

><p>Checking into this hole of a motel had been quite the endeavor. Lynn had forced Jayne to stay in the truck while she took care of checking-in, and then the idiot behind the desk had argued with her about registering the room under Jim Rockford. Eventually she got him to do it, and now she was dragging Jayne to their room. It was another strip motel, with all the rooms accessible only by open-air hallways that overlooked the parking lot. Basically, it was a lot of open ground to cover, and Lynn was trying not to freak out about it. After all, they were still in Baltimore, and Jayne was a freaking fugitive! Plus, this was a busy street. There was a lot of traffic, and several questionable businesses surrounded the motel, almost all of them being advertised by huge, blinking neon signs.<p>

Lynn pulled her hood up over her head and made Jayne wear a pair of sunglasses. She got a lot of grumbling and eye-rolling for her trouble, but Lynn honestly did not give a shit. The two of them jogged across the parking lot and into the open-air hallway. Lynn dragged Jayne down the corridor to the door emblazoned with their room number. Then she hurriedly unlocked the door, threw it open, and shoved Jayne inside.

Once Jayne was clear, Lynn backed into the motel room, looking one way and then the other. Convinced no one had seen them, she quickly slammed the door shut behind her. She whirled around, back against the door and hands on her hips, and leveled her sister with a glare.

The motel room was ugly. Seriously ugly. The walls were paneled with dark, cheap fake wood… except for the walls that were plastered with hideous cream, pink and purple wall paper, the colors splattered in a weird, cartoonish, curly-q design. In front of the bathroom was a monstrous, hot pink wall partition that looked like it belonged in a little girl's clothing store. The furniture was silver-colored metal, with non-matching Victorian accents. Lynn crinkled her nose in disgust at her surroundings before redirecting her annoyed glower towards her sister again. Jayne took a seat on the edge of the bed farthest from the door. Both beds were covered with ugly pink and purple comforters, and adorned with chunky white headboards.

Jayne was moving too stiffly to convince Lynn she was perfectly fine. Lynn didn't miss the wincing way Jayne took a seat and stretched out her legs, crossing her ankles. The light caught her nose stud, making it glaringly obvious against her too pale face, almost as obvious as the dark shadows lingering under her eyes. Jayne made a face at the room décor. "This place looks like Barbie's hunting lodge," she grumbled.

Lynn didn't reply. Jayne glanced at her, and then defensively folded her arms across her chest when she noticed Lynn's scrutiny. "What?" she asked with a careless shrug.

"Oh, don't you _what_ me!" Lynn snapped. "You pulled your stitches and landed your ass back in the hospital, just like Dean and I kept saying you would!"

Jayne rolled her eyes. "It's not a big deal. Just a minor patch job."

"Don't make me smack you! You also got arrested for murder! Oh, and now your name is officially attached to the supposed double homicide we left behind in Brooklyn! Not to mention, Sam and Dean are still locked away at the Baltimore precinct, and Dean is definitely going to hang for this _and_ what happened back in St. Louis!"

Jayne rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, that _is_ a problem. Last I checked, that stuff wasn't my fault though, so… maybe bring down the volume a notch."

Lynn huffed, exhaling harshly and blowing the air into her bangs. Then she slumped against the door and hugged herself across the chest, gripping her shirt sleeves. "Ok," she conceded. "Maybe I shouldn't be yelling at you for _that_. But everything's kind of gone to shit if you haven't noticed, so… what the hell are we going to do?"

Really, what she meant was that she'd nearly lost her sister – _again_ – and that it felt like it was somehow her fault – _again_ – and she was scared and worried and sick to her stomach and feeling very, almost nonsensically, guilty. But Lynn didn't dare voice any of that out loud. She didn't dare think on it too much and make it too real. Ignore, repress, deny. Focus on the present problem. Fix it. Freak out less now and then freak out more later.

Jayne unfolded her arms and leaned forward slightly, balancing her elbows on her knees. "We're going to have to bust them out like you did me," she said. "I know it's going to be a freaking nightmare, but… we can't prove a ghost killed Tony and Karen Giles, and we _definitely_ can't prove a shape-shifter murdered those women in St. Louis. So… I don't know, Lynn. You got some other kind of ingenious disguise for busting into headquarters?"

Lynn scoffed. "No! I can't wear a surgical mask in a police station; it's kind of a giveaway." She frowned a moment, considering their options. "Maybe if we call Rufus… or Bobby Singer? They can pose as detectives or Feds or something… then we could fake a transfer?"

Jayne mulled that thought over. "They're going to check their badge numbers," she pointed out. "Especially if we try the transfer thing; no way they're letting murder suspects go off with random agents they haven't properly ID-ed. We can't fake it with the cops the same way we would with anyone else."

Lynn groaned and threw herself face first onto the other bed. "So, what? We start digging a tunnel?!"

"Or bake them a cake with a file in it."

"I am going to _hit_ you."

Before Jayne could respond, a loud knock sounded on the motel room door. Lynn immediately dragged herself off the bed and stumbled towards the door. "No," she ordered, pointing an accusing finger at her sister. "Knowing our luck it's the cops again, and you are a fugitive from justice. Go hide in the bathroom!"

Jayne rolled her eyes for what Lynn was certain was the five hundredth time and got slowly to her feet, headed for the bathroom. Lynn took a peek through the peephole. A heavy, harsh sigh of relief escaped her lungs at the sight of awkward, hulking Sam Winchester standing slightly hunched in front of the door with his hands shoved in his coat pockets.

She threw open the door. "Sam!" she exclaimed, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and jerking him inside. Sam stumbled over the threshold and blinked at her, then at the rest of the room, incredulously. "Oh my god, how the hell did you get out?" she demanded, slamming the door behind her and quickly latching all the locks.

"Uh… well, Dean kind of created a distraction and… I wasn't much of a prisoner, really. No cuffs, not even in a real interrogation room… they didn't have a lot to hold me on and they were really just trying to get me to flip on Dean and Jayne, so I managed to slip out… Jayne?"

Lynn glanced at her sister, who had neglected to hide in the bathroom as ordered. Sam was staring at Jayne with the same incredulous look he'd given everything else. "I thought you were… how did _you_ get out?" he asked.

Jayne shrugged. Lynn rolled her eyes. "_I_ busted her out," she spoke up. "Sarah Connor over here pulled her stitches during her arrest and they had her taken to the hospital. So I went in as a nurse and snuck her out the back."

Her sister snorted. "But don't make a big deal out of it," she drawled. "She's real modest and you'll embarrass her."

Lynn glared at her sister. Jayne smirked. Sam rolled his eyes. "Ok," he intervened with a heavy sigh. "We're out; that's what matters. Oh, and Dean figured out the Dana Shulps thing."

Sam sounded a little too nonchalant for such a big discovery. Lynn exchanged a frown with Jayne behind his back. "What does it mean?" she demanded.

"It's an anagram," Sam explained. "It's a street. Ashland."

Jayne frowned again. "Ok… that still leaves us with three extra letters…"

"Right," Sam agreed. "I don't know what those mean yet. Hopefully, this will help us figure it out."

He pulled a thick stack of paperwork from under his coat. Lynn's eyes went wide, and she exchanged another dubious frown with her stepsister. "What are _those_?" she demanded. "And how the hell did you store them inside your _coat_?"

Sam shrugged. "They're arrest records and booking photos," he replied. "And… I have my hidden talents; you have yours."

Lynn arched her eyebrow at that. Sam smirked slightly, and then ducked his head bashfully. If she wasn't mistaken, _that_ was an innuendo.

"Gross," Jayne confirmed her suspicion. "How'd you grab those?"

Sam shrugged again. "I made a slight detour during my escape."

Lynn scoffed incredulously. "Who _are_ you? James Bond?"

He smiled again. "Or Virgil Hilts."

Jayne rolled her eyes. "Are you two done congratulating yourselves here? Can we discuss what we're going to do about Dean?"

Her sister's tone wasn't as snarky as it should have been, Lynn noted. It sounded more clipped and irritated and worried.

Sam sighed, looking torn. "I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "I sort of thought he might have a plan. I mean, he did make it possible for me to get out of there, and then you two got the motel room under the right name so he could find us…"

"Dean's in serious lockdown right now," Jayne cut him off. "They're charging him with murder. _Murders_, actually. He's not getting out unless we go in."

Silence followed her announcement. Lynn was still frozen by the door and now she shifted nervously from one foot to the other. She didn't know what to say. She had no plans about what to do. But she knew Jayne was right.

Sam sighed again and sank slowly onto the edge of one of the beds. The stack of paperwork hung loosely from one hand. Lynn felt a rush of possibly unwarranted sympathy for him. He just looked so tired. She was beyond familiar with that tired, hopeless feeling.

"Dean wants us to work the case," Sam said. "That much I'm sure of."

"Great," Jayne returned, rolling her eyes. "Except who cares what Dean wants? I want to bust him out of lockup."

"If we can solve the case…"

"We can prove that some red-eyed ghost chick killed these people? Not likely, Sam."

Sam took a deep breath and nodded in agreement. "Ok, you're right," he said. "But police procedure takes time. Dean's hardly getting shipped off to a state penitentiary overnight. I'm not even sure he's been formerly charged yet. We have some time to figure all of this out, and I think we should take it. Honestly, Jayne? I have no idea how to get him out of this. Do you?"

They'd had this conversation already, but not with Sam. Lynn watched her sister warily from her defensive pose by the door. Jayne was rigid and tight and annoyed, her mouth drawn in a firm line and her arms folded angrily over her chest. But Lynn knew she didn't have a plan anymore than Sam did, and Lynn too was running dry on brilliant schemes.

Instead of answering, Jayne relaxed her shoulders and unfolded her arms, shrugging. She turned away and stepped into the bathroom. Lynn was just relieved she didn't slam the door behind her.

Sam looked helplessly up at Lynn, and she forced a smile for him. He smiled back, but his grin didn't look anymore sincere than hers felt. "Ideas?" he asked.

Lynn shook her head. "Not yet. But we'll think of something; we always do."

He nodded. "Yeah. We always do."

They were silent for a long awkward moment. "Hey," he said. "Um… are we ok? You and me?"

Lynn frowned at him. "Sure. Of course."

Sam crinkled his nose. "Really? Because that fight we had, back at Giles's office… it kind of came out of nowhere. I'm not even sure what we were fighting about."

She laughed slightly. "Yeah, honestly? Neither am I. I just… I don't know. Sometimes I just get upset at everything, and I can't… it was a personal mood-swing-y type thing. Kay?"

He didn't look convinced, but he must have wanted to avoid another argument because he didn't press her. "Kay," he agreed.

She took a seat on the other bed. Sam handed her half the stack of booking photos, and they sat in silence, reviewing every recent disappearance that had occurred on Ashland Street. Jayne came out a few moments later, and snatched a stack of photos for herself. She sat herself up away from them both, at the tiny table in the corner of the motel room.

Nobody spoke for a very long time. Honestly, for once in her life, Lynn found she was pretty okay with that.

* * *

><p>Dean was still in the interrogation room, cuffed to the table once more. He'd been there for hours – probably an entire day by now. He was alone again, and he got the distinct impression there was nobody behind the two-way mirror any longer. They'd given him up for a lost cause and were out trying to build a case against him on their own.<p>

He could tell from the bustle and havoc in the precinct following his not-quite-confession that Sam had escaped. But he still had no idea what had happened to Jayne, and it left his stomach queasy. Lynn's whereabouts were a mystery too, but the little info he'd managed to glean from his repeated interrogations made him think that the cops were as clueless about Lynn as he was.

The door inched open and Dean looked up warily, half expecting his public defender and half concerned that Detective Pete had come back for round two. Instead he found the petite woman detective from earlier… Diana something? She was alone, and she looked nervous and uncertain.

Dean ignored her uncertainty. "Can we make this quick?" he asked irritably. "I'm a little tired. It's been a long day, what with your partner assaulting me and all."

Her uncertainty was instantly gone. "I want to know more about that stuff," she demanded. "You know, that you were talking about earlier."

"Time Life," he retorted. "Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up."

She didn't leave. She walked around the other side of the table, trailing her fingertips along the top. Her uncertainty was back, but she was doing her damndest to hide it. "Let's pretend for a moment," she announced. "That you're not entirely insane. What would one of these… _things_… be doing here?"

Dean tilted his head, raising his eyebrow. "A vengeful spirit?" he prompted. He was by no means going to work to make this detective lady feel comfortable.

She nodded.

"Well, they're created by violent deaths," he explained. "And then they come back for a reason. Usually a nasty one, like revenge on the people that hurt them."

Her fingers were shaking a little bit. "And, uh… these spirits," she went on, raising one hand to fiddle with her hair. "They're, uh… capable of killing people?"

Dean smirked. Then he saw it. On the detective lady's wrist were the same stark, ugly purple bruises that he'd found on Karen Giles. His smirk vanished, replaced by a frown. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

She looked down at her wrist. Confusion replaced the nerves. "I… I don't know…" she said, and Dean could detect a small, slight note of panic in her voice. The detective examined first the wrist in question, and then the other one. Both of them were marked in the same way. "It… it wasn't there before."

"You've seen it, haven't you?" Dean asked, but it wasn't really a question. "The spirit?"

"How did you know?"

"Because Karen had those same bruises on her wrists. And I'm willing to bet if you look at Giles's autopsy photos, he's got them too. It's got something to do with this spirit, but I…"

He trailed off. Diana, he thought her name was, didn't seem to be listening anymore. Her back was turned to him and she was staring into the two-way mirror, massaging her bruised wrists.

"I know," he told her. "You think you're going crazy. Well, let's skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing _died_ pretty soon after. You hear me?"

She whirled around and looked him straight in the eye. "You think I'm going to die."

"You need to go to Sam," he said. "He'll help."

Her eyes widened. She rapidly approached the table. "You're giving your brother up."

"Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. Look for Jim Rockford. It's how we find one another when we're separated. You can arrest him if you want. Or you can let him save your life."

She stared at him. Dean stared evenly back. He watched her swallow, hard. He watched her eyes widen and then narrow. She slowly straightened and turned stiffly towards the door. Dean followed her retreat with his eyes, watching as she opened the door and half stepped into the hallway.

"Your girlfriend," she said hoarsely. Dean's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. She turned around and looked him in the eye again. "Jayne. It was a minor tear in her stitches. They patched her up and she's fine."

His shoulders slumped in relief, and he couldn't quite hold onto his poker face. Diana managed a shaky smirk.

"She escaped too," she told him. Then she left the room and let the door fall shut behind her.

Dean couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face.

* * *

><p>Sam's head was pounding, and it wasn't just because of the ugly motel wallpaper. He'd been reviewing the booking photos he'd nicked from the precinct for hours now, and he was no closer to figuring out the identity of this vengeful spirit than he was before. He was also no closer to figuring out how he was going to bust Dean out of jail. Jayne and Lynn were still sequestered in the motel room with him, perusing their shares of his stolen reports and pictures. From the looks of things, they were just as tired and irritable and clueless as he was.<p>

The sun had set awhile ago, and now it was pitch black outside the motel room window, save for the harsh streetlamps that were just a little too close to the building. Inside the room, the dim motel lamps were not helping Sam's tired eyes. He was about ready to toss his booking photos across the room in a two-year-old-level temper tantrum and give up, but the thought of Dean in a holding cell put him back on track.

A sharp, hesitant knock on the door took him back off the track again. Sam looked up, swinging his head suspiciously towards the door. Jayne, still seated at the table in the corner with her feet balanced on the chair across from her, tossed the photos she'd been looking at to the side and grabbed her gun. Sam rolled his eyes at her, only to turn towards Lynn and find her on her feet, pulling a gun of her own.

His guns were gone, probably locked up in evidence or trapped in the back of the most likely impounded Impala. Sam moved slowly towards the door and peered through the peephole.

Standing in front of the door was the tiny blonde homicide detective, Diana. The woman who had arrested him, questioned him at the precinct, and tried to get him to flip on Dean. Sam looked around as much as he could through the peephole. She looked like she was alone.

Frowning, Sam decided to risk it. Slowly, he opened the door a crack and peered out at Diana.

She nodded at him. She looked nervous, and just as he'd thought, she was definitely alone. Sam swallowed, nodding back, and let her into the motel room.

"Whoa!" Lynn protested from her corner between the window and the bed. Sam shut the door behind the detective, who instantly put her hands up and took a step back when she saw Lynn had a gun. "Who is this? Why are we letting her in? Why are we _forgetting_ about the fugitives from justice thing?"

"Lynn," Sam said softly, shaking his head. "Just put the gun down."

She huffed in response. "Right, ok. Who are you?"

The question was directed at the homicide detective. Diana took another step backwards and said in a placating voice, "My name is Detective Diana Ballard, homicide. I'm not here to arrest anyone, and I'm alone."

Lynn glared at her distrustfully and then glanced at Sam. When Sam nodded encouragingly at her, she slowly, reluctantly lowered the gun.

"What's that mean to me?" Jayne drawled from behind them. Sam whirled around and found her still standing by the table, her gun pointed at Diana. She looked too calm and her voice was too low. "Tell us what you're doing here, detective."

"Guys," Sam snapped irritably. "Is it really necessary to point guns at the police officer?"

"Yes," Jayne retorted. "If you're not here to arrest us, then what do you want?"

The detective hesitated a moment. Sam frowned at her as she studied the floor, shifting from one foot to the other. After a moment, slowly and still hesitating, Diana folded back her suit sleeves and lifted her wrists for inspection. Sam winced at what he saw there. Her wrists were mottled, ugly and purple, bruised in a way that could only have been done by restraints.

Jayne frowned at the detective's wrists. She lowered her gun. "How did you get those?" she demanded.

Diana swallowed and shook her head. "I'm not… they appeared after…"

She couldn't quite vocalize whatever the problem was. Sam frowned inquisitively, tilting his head as he examined the anxious, uncomfortable policewoman in his motel room. Jayne placed her gun on the table and took a step forward. Diana took a step back.

"Karen Giles had those on her wrists," Jayne murmured.

It all made sense then. "You saw it," Sam said. "The spirit."

The detective seemed grateful she didn't have to say the words. She nodded in affirmation.

Sam took hold of her wrists and examined them as clinically as possible. Diana squirmed anyway. He made eye contact with the detective, who was clearly, painfully out of her element. "These showed up after you saw it?" he asked.

"Yeah…" she stuttered. "I… I guess…"

"All right," Sam announced, letting go of her hands. "You're going to have to tell us exactly what you saw."

Diana stared at him a moment. Sam watched her close up again. She turned away, shaking her head. "You know, I must be losing my mind," she announced. "You're a fugitive… you are _all _fugitives. I should be arresting you."

"Good luck with that," Jayne returned dryly, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the table. "You're outnumbered, Detective, and I'm in no mood to be nice."

Sam gave her a sharp look. He glanced at Lynn, who looked nervous. She'd crossed her arms tightly over her chest and was worrying her lower lip with her teeth. Her eyes darted from Sam, to the policewoman, to Jayne, and back again. As uncomfortable as she seemed, Lynn didn't even attempt to argue with her sister.

"Jayne," Sam reprimanded her, taking over the situation. "Stop."

She glared at him, but fell silent. Sam looked over at Diana, who seemed like she seriously wanted to bail. "Look, you can arrest us later," he told her, trying to reassure the detective.

"You can try," Jayne interjected coldly.

"_Jayne_," Sam insisted. "Enough."

She rolled her eyes, slumping harder against the table, and glared at the ceiling.

"You can arrest us later," Sam repeated himself, focusing on Diana again. "After you live through this. But right now? You got to talk to us. Ok?"

Diana stared at him. She swallowed. Then, reluctantly, she nodded.

"Ok, great," Sam said, taking up leaning space on the metal, embellished dresser that took up most of the wall opposite the two beds. Lynn crept out of her corner and took a seat on one of the beds. Jayne didn't move from where she was leaning imposingly on the table.

Diana shifted nervously, her eyes darting back and forth between the three of them. "This spirit," Sam went on, trying to keep Diana's attention on him. "What did it look like?"

She shook her head. "She was… um… really pale… and her throat was cut… and her eyes, they were like this… deep, dark red. It appeared like she was trying to talk to me… but… she couldn't. There was just… a lot of blood."

Slowly, Diana sank onto the edge of the second bed. Lynn scooted along the mattress, closer to the detective, looking unsure about why she was moving in closer, but also like she was considering comforting the woman. Sam didn't wait for her to make up her mind, and got to his feet. "You know what? Here," he announced, heading for the abandoned stack of photos he'd left on Lynn's bed. He snatched them up from beside her and handed them to Diana, taking a seat on the bed next to Lynn. "We've been researching every girl who'd ever died or gone missing from Ashland Street."

The detective was immediately on her feet again. "How'd you get those?" she demanded indignantly. "Those are from crime scenes and booking photos!"

Sam shrugged, smiling slightly. "You have your job; we have ours."

Diana did not look impressed. Jayne rolled her eyes, equally underwhelmed. Lynn offered him a small smile, which he returned. Sam handed the photos over to Diana. "Take a look," he told her. "Tell us if there's anyone you recognize."

The detective backed up, still staring him down as she retook her seat on the edge of the other bed. Methodically, she began thumbing through the photos. She'd only made it through a few of the pictures before she stopped cold and looked back at Sam. He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"What is it?" Lynn asked. Diana looked at her instead. "Do you recognize someone?"

The detective nodded. She looked back down at the photo. "This is her," Diana announced, holding out the photo in their direction. "I'm sure of it."

Sam took the photo from Diana's hand and examined the pretty blonde woman in the mug shot. "Claire Becker?" he asked. "Twenty-eight years old, disappeared about eight or nine months ago?"

"But I don't even know her," the detective argued, obviously confused. "I mean, why would she come after me?"

Sam shrugged. Jayne crossed the room then and leaned over his and Lynn's shoulders, checking out the woman in question. "Well, before her death she was arrested twice for dealing heroin," he informed the detective. "You ever work narcotics?"

"Yeah. Pete and I did. Before homicide."

Sam held up the photo again. "You ever bust her?"

Diana shook her head. "Not that I remember."

Sam returned to the police report about the young woman's disappearance. "Says here she was last seen entering 129 Ashland Street. Police searched the place… didn't find anything." He handed the report to Diana. "Guess we got to check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body."

He got to his feet and grabbed his coat from where he'd left it, draped over a chair at the table. Lynn leapt to her feet too while Jayne grabbed her coat from the bed. Diana didn't move.

"What?" she exclaimed incredulously.

Sam exchanged a look with Jayne and Lynn. Jayne rolled her eyes and headed for the door, while Lynn offered Diana a cringing, almost sympathetic smile. "Well, we've got to salt and burn her bones," Sam explained to the detective, trying and failing to keep his amusement at her incredulity out of his voice. "It's the only way to put her spirit to rest."

The detective stared at him, nodding sarcastically. "Of course it is."

She wasn't happy about it, but Diana didn't offer any more arguments. She got to her feet and followed the three of them out the door. They stepped out into the harsh lighting of the open-air corridor, and into the shadows of the dark parking lot. When Diana made a move for the police cruiser she'd parked outside their motel room, Sam followed her. He was the only one. Lynn and Jayne exchanged identical expressions of distaste, before heading towards the truck.

Diana frowned after them. "Aren't they coming with us?" she asked Sam.

He shrugged, offering her an apologetic smile. "I think they'll just meet us there."

Diana raised her eyebrow. Sam tried smiling again. "It's just… the police car thing? I don't think they're comfortable riding in the backseat of a car that… you know. They can't get out of?"

She nodded in understanding. "Right. Of course."

Sam climbed into the passenger seat. Diana started the engine and followed Jayne's truck out of the motel parking lot. Sam slumped against the seat, leaning his elbow against the car door and propping his head up in his hand.

This was going to be awkward.

* * *

><p>129 Ashland Street was a hole. The building looked like it had been abandoned for years, with dirty windows, peeling paint, crumbing bricks and loose boards. Lynn had no trouble believing there was a dead body hiding somewhere in there.<p>

She grimaced as she picked her way behind her sister. Jayne was following Sam and Diana into the basement of the building, and Lynn was coming along too even though she'd really prefer to be somewhere else. There were cobwebs growing in corners and stretched between the cheap metal shelving that crowded the dark, tiny cement basement. The shelves were lined with dirty mason jars, empty, dusty wine bottles, corroded metal boxes, old rusted tools, and worthless machine parts. Sam was in the lead, balancing his flashlight between the fingers of his broken, still bandaged hand.

"So, what exactly are we looking for?" Detective Diana Ballard asked. She was sticking close to Sam, and Lynn couldn't really blame her. The petite blonde gave off an aura of kickass, takes-no-nonsense policewoman, but right now she was seriously out of her element and obviously uncomfortable.

Sam shrugged. "I'll let you know when we find it."

Lynn crinkled her nose and looked at Jayne. Her sister rolled her eyes. They all moved closer to the staircase. She could hear a dripping noise coming from up there, and a shaft of light shone from the doorway at the top of the steps. Sam shone his flashlight upstairs, frowning like he thought he'd found something. Then he started climbing the steps, leaving them all behind.

Diana was moving in the opposite direction, heading deeper into the dark, dank basement. Lynn looked at Jayne for direction, who jerked her head towards the staircase. "You go with him," she ordered. "I'll watch Policewoman over here."

Lynn frowned incredulously. "Why? You've been nothing but… well, a dick to her."

Jayne shrugged. "What else is new? I'm a dick to everyone."

Then she followed Diana into the shadows, a flashlight in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Lynn sighed, shook her head at her seriously annoying big sister, and then followed Sam upstairs.

He was waiting for her at the top of the steps, and he looked a little confused about why she was following him. "Why aren't you with Diana?" he asked.

Lynn huffed, unaccountably offended. "Jayne's with her. She's a big girl. With a gun. I think she only needs one baby-sitter. What are you looking for up here anyway?"

Sam smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "So… you're going to be _my_ babysitter?"

She huffed again, tossing her hair. "_No_."

He just stared at her with that stupid, slightly mocking puppy-dog grin. Lynn rolled her eyes. "You didn't answer my question," she pointed out.

Sam shrugged, glancing in the direction of the dripping noise. "I thought I heard something weird. It's just a leaking pipe."

Lynn nodded. "You really think her body's in here?"

He shrugged again. "I mean… this is at least where she died, right? Why else would she lead us here? But then…"

Sam trailed off, hesitating. Lynn frowned "What?" she pressed him.

"What vengeful spirit leads us to her bones?" Sam asked. "I mean… can you remember ever hunting a spirit that wanted to be put to rest?"

The answer to that question was so obviously no, but Lynn wasn't sure she wanted to say it out loud. She hesitated, shuffling from one foot to the other, opening her mouth and then closing it. Finally, she spit out, "I guess not."

So why the hell did Claire want them to come here? A creepy-crawly, icy shiver ran down her spine.

Sam looked like he had more to say on the subject, but was immediately silenced by sudden shouting from the basement level. "Sam!" Lynn heard Diana cry out in terror… and wasn't it just so typical that the woman was calling for Sam rather than her or Jayne? "Sam!"

Both of them started running back down the stairs. A shotgun blast echoed through the building, and Diana gave a short, surprised shriek. Sam put on a burst of extra speed and Lynn had to sprint to keep up. When the two of them reached Diana's side, Jayne was already there, shotgun in hand. Diana gawked at her incredulously.

"_What was that_?" the detective exploded.

Jayne shrugged, tucking the shotgun into her coat. "Rock salt in a shotgun shell. It repels spirits."

She sounded bored, but she looked a little smug. Diana continued gaping at her. Lynn shook her head and put her hand over her eyes. Her sister was _such_ a pain in the ass…

"What happened?" Sam demanded, taking charge of the situation.

"Claire," Diana breathed heavily, slumping against an unfinished basement wall.

"Where?"

"She was here," Diana panted.

"Did she attack you?"

The detective shook her head. "No, no… she was just, like… reaching out to me. She was over there, by the window."

Lynn followed the finger Diana pointed at the opposite wall. There was no one there now. The dirty window in question was lit by a nearby streetlamp, and there was nothing in front of it except another cheap industrial shelf. Diana jogged towards the window, and Sam followed quickly after her. Lynn frowned at Jayne, who shrugged and headed in the same direction.

When Lynn reached the window, Diana was already tugging on the overloaded shelf. "Help me move this," the detective ordered, and Sam complied, helping her scoot the shelf out of the way. Lynn's eyes widened at the suddenly visible window. Painted on the discolored glass were the letters ASHLAND SUP.

"Our little mystery word," Diana announced.

Lynn frowned at the sign on the window. Slowly, Sam turned away and shone his flashlight on the brick wall across from them. The light filtering in around the letters left them reflected back at them on the wall.

"Now the extra letters make sense," Sam whispered.

"Yeah," Jayne grumbled under her breath. "No shit."

Lynn dug a reprimanding elbow into her sister's uninjured side. Jayne grunted in irritation, and Lynn shot her a warning look.

Sam ignored Jayne's unhelpful commentary, however, and crept towards the wall with the shadow letters. He removed his EMF reader from his coat and immediately the machine started whirring and flashing its little red lights.

"What is that?" Diana demanded, following closely on his heels.

"Spirits and certain remains give off electro-magnetic frequencies," Sam explained.

"So if Claire's body was here… that would indicate that?"

"Yeah… well, that's the theory."

He stepped up to the wall then, and held the EMF detector right up to the bricks. Immediately, the whirring intensified and the lights glowed red and stayed red. Sam looked over his shoulder at the rest of them, as though to verify that they'd seen the results too.

Diana made a wincing face, taking a step back. Lynn glanced at her sympathetically. She'd had her reservations about helping the officer before… this woman was half the reason Sam and her sister had been arrested and Dean was still in lockdown... but she wasn't completely immune to the woman's obvious fear and discomfort.

Jayne had already whipped out a crowbar – hell if Lynn knew where she'd been keeping the damn thing – and now she was marching towards Sam. Sam took it from her, and Jayne actually _growled_.

"Hey, don't bite my head off, ok?" Sam returned. "But your sister's going to kill both of us if I let you swing a crowbar around with those stitches."

Jayne turned her glower on Lynn instead. "He's right," Lynn informed her.

She earned herself another dark look, and then Jayne stormed off to another dark corner of the basement. Sam hefted the crowbar and swung, slamming the heavy metal rod into the decaying bricks.

"You know," Jayne drawled from her corner. "Sam still has an injured hand."

"Shut up," Lynn ordered.

"Just saying… not the only one with physical limitations around here."

"I said no, and that is final."

"Well, if you say no, that _is_ final."

"Don't make me punch you!"

Sam grunted loudly and slammed the crowbar into the wall again. Bricks began to crumble. Breathing heavily, he tossed the crowbar aside and shined his flashlight into the hole he'd made. "Yeah," he announced, ending any further arguing Lynn might have been tempted to do with her sister. "There's _definitely_ something in there."

`Lynn headed for his side, flashlight in hand and Diana on her heels. Both of them tried to shine their lights on the hole at Sam's eyelevel; i.e. way above their heads. Lynn glared meaningfully over her shoulder at her much taller sister. Jayne ignored her and examined the ceiling.

Sam slammed his elbow into the wall, knocking loose the crumbling bricks. "You know," he grunted, taking another hit at the decaying mortar. "This is bothering me."

"Well, you are digging up a corpse," Diana pointed out.

"No, not that," Sam returned, smiling. "That's, uh… that's pretty much par for the course, actually."

"Then what?"

Lynn knew what he would say. It all came back to the nature of vengeful spirits. If Claire was buried behind this wall, why would she lead them to her remains?

"It's just… I mean, no vengeful spirit I've ever tousled with _wanted_ to be wasted," Sam said, echoing Lynn's prediction perfectly. "So why the hell would Claire lead us to her remains? It doesn't make any sense."

Lynn pursed her lips, frowning as she thought over Sam's concerns for the second time that night. He made a good point, and now the whole thing was really starting to worry her. Diana looked equally apprehensive.

She glanced over her shoulder again. Jayne was still casually studying the ceiling. Apparently, she wasn't worried at all… or she was completely worried and doing a fair job of hiding it. Either option seemed sound.

Jayne was so annoying.

Sam grunted again, throwing his weight into the bricks a few more times. They gave easily under the force of the blows, caving in backwards and into the hole he'd created. Finally, Sam stopped pounding away on the wall and reached into the hole. Lynn hurried to help him and Diana quickly stepped out of the way.

Whatever was in the wall had been wrapped in a black tarp and tied with rope. Lynn didn't want to assume it was a body, but the length and shape and weight… well, it was definitely a body, whether she wanted to think so or not.

She struggled with the weight, and Sam ended up carrying most of it. Between the two of them they managed to haul the tarp out of the wall and lay the bundle out on the cracked, dirty floor tiles. Lynn knelt on the floor as Sam pulled his knife and sliced through the ropes keeping the haphazard wrapping in place. Diana took up kneeling space beside Lynn, and Sam got down across from them. Jayne jogged towards them, her annoyance with them forgotten in light of her curiosity.

They unwrapped the tarp as quickly as possible, revealing exactly what Lynn had been afraid they would find. Lying on the floor in front of them was the gray, emaciated, blonde-haired corpse of Claire Becker. Her wrists were bound together, crossed over her chest. Lynn swallowed, hard.

"Her wrists," Diana murmured, rubbing her own.

"Yeah," Sam agreed quietly. "They'd be bruised, just like yours."

Lynn shook her head, folding her hands in her lap. She didn't dare touch the body, but her chest felt sore and swollen all the same. Jayne crouched down nearby, tilting her head as she studied the remains critically. Lynn glanced at her, only to be distracted from her sister when Diana reached out and took hold of the necklace hanging around Claire's neck.

"Does that necklace mean something to you?" Sam asked as all three of them watched her examine it.

The detective took a deep, steadying breath. "I've seen it before." She sounded angry. "It's rare. It was custom made over on Carson Street."

Sam took hold of the necklace, frowning first at the jewelry and then at Diana. Lynn frowned at her too. "How do you know all that?" she asked.

Diana reached into her blouse and tugged out a necklace of her own. "I have one just like it," she returned frostily. "Pete gave it to me."

Lynn's curious frown softened involuntarily. Not for the first time that evening, she felt a rush of sympathy for the other woman. Her insensitive sister didn't get the memo.

"Who the hell is Pete?" Jayne asked.

Diana raised an eyebrow at her. "My partner. Detective Sheridan. He's the one who briefed you at the hospital? Interrogated you?"

Understanding passed over Jayne's face. She exchanged looks with Lynn and Sam, and then raised her own eyebrow at Diana. "Well," she murmured. "Not to upset you, Detective, but… this doesn't exactly look good for your partner."

Diana bristled. Lynn winced, covering her face with her hands. Before things could escalate, however, Sam got to his feet excitedly and proclaimed, "Now this all makes perfect sense!"

Everyone frowned at him, Diana especially. "I'm sorry?" she demanded.

"Yeah, you see, Claire isn't a vengeful spirit! She's a death omen!"

That announcement got the already angry detective on her feet. "_Excuse me?_"

"Claire's not killing anyone," Sam murmured, shaking his head. "She's trying to warn them."

Lynn glanced up at the detective. She was simply staring at Sam, like she was having trouble piecing all this bullshit together. Lynn didn't blame her; it was a lot to throw at someone all in one go. Sam immediately started to explain. "You see, sometimes spirits don't want vengeance, they want justice… which is why she led us here in the first place. She wants us to know who her killer is."

Sam's announcement was met with silence. Lynn shifted uncomfortably on the dirty tiled floor, watching as everything began to fall into place for Diana. It didn't take long; she was a smart lady. Lynn could see the moment Diana came to the same conclusion that Jayne had already drawn play out on her face.

She looked up at each of them, her eyes flitting from first Lynn, to Jayne, and landing on Sam. He hesitated, holding her eye contact, and asked cautiously, "Detective, how much do you know about your partner?"

Diana took a step backwards, her eyes getting wider by the second. "Oh my god," she muttered.

"What?" Sam prompted.

Lynn moved out of the way as Diana began to pace the basement. "About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup," she told them. "Obviously it was a cop. We never found out who did it. But whoever did it would need somebody to fence their product."

"Someone like a heroin dealer," Sam agreed. "Someone like Claire."

Diana looked crushed. Lynn glanced at the necklace hanging around the cop's neck and hazarded a guess that Pete was more than just her partner. The detective's slender fingers entangled themselves in the chain, tugging on it as she worked over the revelation silently, her eyes tired and wet.

Lynn bit her lip, shifting slightly in her impatience. She felt for the woman; she really did. But there was no time for Diana to have a moment.

"Diana," she said softly. The woman looked up at her in surprise. "I could see how you might be… upset? A little shell-shocked? But… if this is true and Pete is the reason Claire is dead, that means he's also the reason Tony and Karen are dead… and it means he's probably what Claire is trying to warn you about. We need to find him before he finds you."

That seemed to snap Diana out of it. She dropped the necklace and noticeably steeled herself. "Right," she said out loud, nodding ever so slightly. "Let's go."

She pushed past Lynn and headed for the exit. Sam nodded at Lynn, possibly in gratitude, and then he followed the police officer. Lynn looked at her sister.

Jayne shrugged and headed after them. Lynn sighed, rolled her eyes, and followed. When she stepped back onto the street, into the cool night air, Diana was already sliding behind the wheel of her precinct-issue vehicle. Sam jogged around to the passenger side.

"I'll go with her; you guys follow. Diana said we can start at Pete's place, all right?" he told them.

"Whatever," Jayne grunted, heading for her truck. Lynn watched her go, raised her eyebrow at Sam and shrugged.

"Ok," she agreed.

Barely thirty seconds later, the truck was back on the road and trailing behind Diana's car. Lynn sighed, squirming on the bench seat and nervously playing with her hair. Jayne spared her a brief glance out of the corner of her eye and then returned her focus to the road.

"Even if we prove Detective Sheridan is behind all this…" Lynn said hesitantly. "I mean, that doesn't let Dean off the hook for St. Louis."

Jayne grunted noncommittally.

Lynn chewed her lower lip. "So… how does this end? How do we get Dean out?"

"I don't know," Jayne murmured, her tone too quiet and too calm. "We'll cross that one when we get to it."

They fell silent after that. Lynn wanted to hash out the situation a little more, but she knew Jayne wasn't up for it. She didn't have an answer to the problem, and it was bothering her more than she was letting on. Lynn knew that; it was Dean, after all, and her sister was very weird about Dean.

It didn't surprise her. But it might be starting to worry her, how weird Jayne could be when it came down to Dean.

* * *

><p>Dean wasn't surprised to see it was night again. Actually, if the clock on the wall of the precinct was anything to go by, it was morning. 2 am, to be exact. What surprised him – or rather, what worried him – was that he was being loaded into the back of a county transport van, in cuffs and chains, and that Detective Pete Sheridan was behind the wheel.<p>

There was no one else in the van, and there were no vehicles lining up to follow them.

Dean's concerns mounted as Pete started the van up and pulled away from the precinct. There was a quiet crackle from the radio, interspersed with unintelligible voices as cops all over the city communicated with one another. Save for that, the van was silent. Pete kept his eyes on the road, and Dean kept shooting the back of his head uncomfortable expressions. The tires were grinding against the pavement, and the shadows from the tree-lined route they were taking played eerily on the inside of the van. It didn't escape Dean's notice that Pete avoided the Interstate, following signs that led towards a rural highway instead. He swallowed, hard.

"So, I'm being extradited to St. Louis, huh?" Dean asked. He couldn't take one second longer of the silence. "And you just decided to transfer me yourself, 800 miles, at two in the morning?"

Pete said nothing. Dean waited, for any sign at all that Pete had heard him or might have something to say in return. Pete gave him no sign at all and remained staring resolutely out the windshield without speaking.

"This can't be good," Dean muttered to himself.

They rolled on down the back roads in silence. Dean drummed his fingers nervously on his thighs. When the van turned off onto a dirt side-road and came to a dead stop in the bushes, Dean's heart leapt in a terrible way.

"Pee break?" he quipped. "So soon? Might want to get your prostate checked."

The homicide detective turned off the van. Without a word, he climbed down from the cab and calmly shut the door. Dean watched through the window as Pete stalked around to the back of the van.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself.

Pete yanked the back door open. "Hey, I'm cool in the van," Dean said immediately. "You go do what you got to do."

He grabbed Dean by the arm and hauled him out of the van, tossing him into the grass. Instinctively, Dean rolled and managed to get up on his knees, despite all the chains. Pete sneered down at him, loosening his tie. "You're a cocky son of a bitch," he announced. "You think those people in St. Louis are going to buy that crap you're peddling? But here's the thing; you're not going to make it to St. Louis. You're going to die trying to escape."

Dean swallowed down the nausea. Waves rolled in his stomach. He couldn't even bring himself to smirk at the detective. Pete pulled his firearm.

"Wait!" Dean exclaimed. "Wait. Let's just talk about this for a minute! I mean, you don't want to do something you'll regret…"

Pete cocked the gun.

"Or maybe you do," Dean conceded, his mind racing as he tried to think up an escape plan. For once in his life, he was out of ideas. His mind was blank.

He was so screwed.

* * *

><p>Jayne kept her eyes on the road, trying not to snatch her sister's cell phone from her hand and demand to know what Sam was telling her that made her look so worried. Instead she tightened her grip on the wheel and hit the gas a little too hard, steering her truck past a particularly slow moving Buick. Ever since they'd left the hospital… hell, ever since she'd been arrested… her nerves had been on overdrive. There was no worse place for Dean Winchester than handcuffed and left to cool his jets in a police precinct. It wasn't just the Giles murders, which were bad enough on their own, but the ghost of St. Louis had cropped up too and now Dean was practically in an orange jumpsuit already.<p>

"What?" Lynn was asking Sam now, sitting on the edge of the passenger seat. "OK… uh-huh… do you know where he is now?"

Jayne bit her lower lip and glared at the back bumper of Diana's car, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the wheel even tighter than before. Dean was in some serious shit right now, and it definitely couldn't be good that the main homicide detective involved in his case was completely corrupt and apparently the _actual_ murderer of Karen and Tony Giles.

"Ok, all right," Lynn murmured into the phone. "We're behind you. I'll tell Jayne."

She hung up the phone, releasing a long, unsteady breath. Jayne raised her eyebrow at her sister, who turned wide, hesitant eyes on her.

"Tell Jayne what?" she asked gruffly.

Lynn winced ever so slightly. "Dean's not at the precinct anymore."

Jayne frowned. "Dean's not at the precinct anymore," she repeated. "Ok. So where is he?"

Lynn winced again. "Detective Sheridan took him."

Her grip on the wheel tightened tenfold. "_What?_" she snapped.

"I don't know the details, ok!" Lynn exclaimed, holding up her hands in surrender. "I just know that he told the other officers that Dean needed to be transferred and then he took him. They're supposedly going to St. Louis. Dispatch has been calling Pete, but he's not answering. He took a county vehicle, so Diana had headquarters turn on the lo-jack."

"So we know where he is?"

Lynn nodded. "We'll get there soon, ok? Try not to freak out."

Jayne scoffed. "I'm not freaking out."

Except for the part where she was definitely freaking out. Jayne didn't think she _could_ grip that steering wheel any tighter, but somehow she managed it.

They weren't on the road for very long. Jayne followed Diana's car onto a lonely rural highway that led south. Only a few minutes passed as they sped down the throughway, under the shadow of the trees lining the road. Soon, Diana turned off onto a side road. Poor old Janis grumbled and lurched all the way down the bumpy dirt path. They parked in some bushes.

Jayne gnawed on her lip as she shut down the engine and leapt down from the cab. Lynn followed her hastily. Sam and Diana were already out of the car and waiting for them. Diana had her gun.

"We're going in the rest of the way on foot," she told them. "If Pete hears our cars pull up, he might get spooked."

She actually sounded like a cop right then. Looked like one too. Hell, she'd looked like a cop the whole time, but it was easy to forget that kind of stuff when the woman was screaming her head off because some creepy red-eyed ghost was stalking her.

"Ok," Lynn agreed, nodding sharply. Jayne grunted and pulled her own gun. Diana raised her eyebrow.

"As a police officer," she began. "I can't actually let you…"

"Save it," Jayne interrupted her gruffly. "The gun stays."

She marched down the overgrown dirt road before Diana could offer up any further arguments. Lynn's voice echoed from some distance behind her, and while Jayne couldn't make out the words, she assumed her sister was apologizing on her behalf. The thought made her roll her eyes.

Footsteps sounded behind her as the others caught up. She found herself sandwiched between Sam and Lynn. Diana pushed her way up front, leading the way, and Jayne nearly snorted as she wondered exactly what the police detective thought that was going to do. Her force-issued weapon was out and she was keeping low, just like any officer going in on a sting. Jayne wasn't impressed. Just because the actual murderer had turned out to be human didn't mean she was sitting back and letting the cops take the reins. Maybe that was the right thing to do, but Jayne didn't care so much about right as she did about Dean.

The thought came to her unexpectedly, and she found herself forcing the small admission about her personal feelings way underneath everything else, ignoring the revelation. She was sick and tired of fucking revelations.

Diana led the way down the dirt road and through the overgrown brush. They made it to a small clearing, still shadowed and overhung with thick, leafy trees. In the far end, tucked under the trees, was a white county transport van. And in the clearing, under the moonlight, Detective Ballard stood and pointed his gun at Dean.

Jayne ducked sideways into the trees. Diana marched forward into the clearing, Sam and Lynn on her heels.

"Pete!" the detective barked, leveling her gun with her partner's head. Detective Ballard jumped, swiveling to the side and aiming for Diana instead. Dean looked up from where he was kneeling in the long grass and Jayne's stomach tightened, threatening to spill its contents on the ground.

"Put the gun down!" Diana ordered.

"Diana?" Pete exclaimed. "How'd you find me?"

Something was lodged in Jayne's throat; it might have been her heart. Pete's eyes were on Diana, and Jayne crept towards Dean.

"I know about Claire," Diana announced,

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Jayne slid out of the brush as silently as possible and jogged to Dean's side. He jumped at the sudden shadow at his side, looking up at her incredulously. Jayne knelt beside, pulling a bobby pin out of her braid, and started to pick the tiny lock on his handcuffs.

"Put the gun down!" Diana ordered again.

"Nah… I don't think so. You're fast; pretty sure I'm faster."

He looked right at Dean then, and finally noticed Jayne's presence. The gun in his hand swung automatically from Diana to them, and Jayne found herself stepping in front of Dean and pointing her gun at Pete.

Pete raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to speak, taking a step forward, and Jayne's stomach lurched. She stepped slightly to the right on instinct, to better cover Dean. Diana spoke up, drawing the other detective's attention again. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.

He turned his head sharply to the side. "I didn't do anything, Diana."

Diana tilted her head disbelievingly. "It's a little late for that."

"It wasn't my fault," he insisted. "Claire was going to turn me in. I had no choice!"

"And Tony? Karen?"

"Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money, and then he got skittish, and he wanted to come clean! I'm sure he told Karen everything! It was a mess; I had to clean it up! I just panicked."

Sam and Lynn were looking ready to jump in, standing behind the tiny police woman's narrow shoulders. Diana's gun was still on Pete, and Pete's attention was still on Diana. Jayne glanced back at Dean and saw him shake his head discouragingly at the other two hunters, warning them not to do anything. She took a small step backwards, trying to provide better cover for Dean. The dark look he gave her in return suggested he was anything except grateful for her protection.

"How many more people are going to have to die over this, Pete?" Diana demanded. She looked entirely unsympathetic to her partner's sob story.

"There's a way out," he promised. "These two here, they're a freaking gift."

He stepped closer to Jayne and Dean, refocusing his aim. Jayne eyed his piece warily, her fingers tightening on her gun. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to pull the trigger before Pete could, but something stopped her. This wasn't a ghost or a monster; this was a human and a police officer. Killing him should make her feel uncomfortable, but she found it didn't. She only stilled her finger over the trigger because of Diana, who was still talking down her partner to the side. With Diana looking on, still trying to end this without killing anyone else, Jayne suddenly couldn't make a move.

"We can pin the whole thing on them," Pete went on, still trying to make a case for his shitty decision-making. "No trial, nothing! Just two more dead scumbags."

"Hey!" Dean protested behind her. Pete made a move with the gun and Jayne stepped forward threateningly, pointing her gun between his eyes. Pete wavered, but only slightly. He glared at her. He looked imploringly at Diana.

"Don't question it," Pete said. "Diana, please. I still love you."

Diana faltered. The look she gave the other detective was as piercing now as it had been just a minute before, but still she lowered her gun. Jayne's throat closed up, and she clung harder to her own weapon.

"Thank you," Pete whispered to his partner. "Thank you."

He turned towards Jayne, but she was faster. On instinct, her finger squeezed the trigger. She felt the gun fire and heard the shot ring out in the woods, only to be echoed by a second shot to her left, from where Diana was standing. Pete had moved quickly when Jayne had fired, like he'd expected her to shoot, and so the bullet missed its mark.

Diana's bullet hit home. Pete hadn't expected that one and wasn't quick enough to duck or block. He crumpled to the ground, his gun tumbling from his grip, and cried out in pain. Jayne watched, wide-eyed, and saw him nursing his hand where Diana had shot him. He was bleeding there, and as her eyes roved over his hunched over form she saw blood on his ear too, where her bullet had clipped him as he'd ducked away from the more fatal shot.

She was moving forward on auto-pilot and she kicked the detective's gun as hard as she could. The piece sailed into the brush behind him. Pete looked up at her in shock and anger, but then Diana came rushing towards them, redrawing his attention.

"Then why don't you buy me another necklace, you ass!" Diana spat.

Pete roared then, leaping forward with unexpected speed. He lunged at Diana, and Jayne interceded with her knee, catching Pete in the face with a hard, crushing blow. She could feel his nose break against her kneecap, heard the crack before he fell backwards into the grass, moaning and clutching his face. She pointed her gun at him. Diana gasped behind her, stopping short at Jayne's shoulder. The detective's hand shook around her weapon.

The fallen officer's leg jerked out quite suddenly, and hit Jayne in the shin. She stumbled, sharp pain exploding in her leg, and the gun tumbled from her grip. Diana leapt forward the moment Jayne faltered, but Pete was off the ground, blood flying from his broken nose, and he tackled the other detective, knocking her off her feet and onto her back. Diana's police-issue firearm fell to the ground, and Pete lunged for it.

Jayne was on her knees still, searching for the weapon she'd lost in the long grass, her throat closing up and her mind whirling with panic. She was moving on adrenaline and nothing else. Lynn and Sam were running towards the scene, but Pete had seized Diana's weapon and was trying to get back up on his feet.

"Don't do it!" he shouted, his voice breaking in desperation as he pointed Diana's gun at Sam and Lynn. "Don't do it!"

Lynn stopped short, her teeth catching her lower lip uncertainly in the face of the gun. Jayne mentally cursed her for letting Diana win back at the truck and not bringing her weapon; Lynn was hell with a firearm. Lynn met Jayne's eyes over Pete's shoulder, and Jayne shook her head ever so slightly at her. Sam likewise froze in his tracks, holding up his hands in surrender. Pete swung around towards Dean, and Jayne jumped to her feet, throwing herself forward without fully realizing it, placing herself in between Dean and the gun once again.

A cold wind whipped through the clearing then, rustling the long grass and the overgrown trees. Jayne's spine tingled like there was something watching her back, and it took all her willpower not to take her eyes off Pete and check over her shoulder. Still sprawled on the ground, Diana stared somewhere behind Pete, her eyes widening in shock and horror. Behind the policewoman, Sam's eyes landed on the same spot and he too frowned, although mostly in confusion.

Jayne met Lynn's eyes. Then she heard a low, guttural, gasping groan behind her. She whirled at the same time as Pete.

Standing by the transport van was Claire, blonde and bloody and red-eyed, hissing unintelligible words with her slit throat. Jayne took an involuntary step back, her hand tightening around her gun. Pete faltered, his eyes widening, and lowered his weapon. Claire glowered at him, and Pete frowned, torn between confusion, disbelief, and fear.

A shot rang out in the sudden silence of the clearing, and Pete gasped, stumbling forward and collapsing to his knees. Jayne spun around. Diana had gotten her hands on Jayne's gun and she'd shot Pete.

The other detective crumpled completely to the ground, in spasms, groaning as he fell. Jayne watched, wide-eyed, as Pete twitched in the long grass, coughing and moaning. In mere seconds, it was over. He lay still and silent, with open glassy eyes. Pete was dead.

Claire was gone.

Diana lowered her gun, breathless, and slumped slightly in the grass. Jayne, Dean, Sam and Lynn all stared at Pete's body. For some reason, Jayne felt like she couldn't quite move… not just yet.

Lynn seemed to snap out of her stupor first and jogged to Diana's side, kneeling next to the detective on the ground. Jayne turned away, leaving Diana to Lynn's care, and headed for Pete's body, lying crumpled and awkwardly still on the ground. She pressed her fingers into his neck, just to be sure, and when she got no pulse she started digging through his pockets. It took several tries before she finally stumbled upon the keys to Dean's chains. The relief she'd yet to experience, even after Diana had taken out Pete, finally surfaced.

She jogged to Dean's side and fell to her knees in the grass. She could feel Dean's eyes on her as she unlocked the cuffs around his wrists, but she avoided his gaze. Instead she moved to his ankles, eyes on his stupid biker boots while she unlocked the leg irons.

His hand ghosted through her hair, and goosebumps cropped up on her neck. Jayne ignored it, removing the irons and freeing him completely. Dean's hand was persistent, and he tucked her hair behind her ear.

She looked up. He stared at her. She stared back. Then Sam appeared, and it was over. Jayne got to her feet as Sam helped Dean up on his. "Are you all right?" Sam asked worriedly, hovering over his older brother like a complete, awkward ninny.

Although, really, that was what Jayne was: a complete, awkward ninny. She took a step back from the pair of them, swallowing hard and glaring at the long grass.

"I'm fine," Dean grunted, rolling his eyes. "Seriously."

Ever so slightly, in the distance, hiding behind a wall of thick trees, Jayne could detect the barest glimmer of pale morning light creeping along the bottom of the pitch black sky. Sam watched Dean, and she could feel Dean watching her. She wanted to throw herself at him, wrap her arms around him and smash her lips against his. She wanted to demand he never get himself into this situation again and pester him with questions about whether or not he was all right. The want overwhelmed her, and her throat closed up, her chest heavy with un-acted upon impulses.

Jayne didn't act. She wasn't sure why, but all she did was walk away.

* * *

><p>It dawned cold and gray and foggy on that grassy, dirt back road. Diana was still kneeling in the long, browning grass by the back of the white county van, hovering over her dead partner's ever stiffening body. Eventually, Lynn gave up on coaxing the older woman away and started pacing the more defined section of the dirt road, watching anxiously for… what, Dean wasn't sure. More cops, maybe? Well-meaning passers-by?<p>

He didn't think she had to worry about that, not on this never-used path to bum-fuck Egypt.

Dean stood on trampled over grass, frowning through the fog over his shoulder. They should really be going now. They should bail, because sticking around and talking to the cops when Diana finally snapped out of it long enough to call for backup wasn't going to help anyone.

Sam stood next to him, hands shoved in his coat pockets and shoulders slightly hunched, watching Diana. Dean thought about telling him they needed to get a move on, but something kept tying up his tongue and preventing him from speaking.

Jayne was standing too far away from him, he decided, under one of the low-hanging trees, with her back to the trunk. She was being weird, and he couldn't handle it any longer. She hadn't spoken to him once since they all showed up to save his ass, and she wouldn't look at him either. Dean was getting irritated. He folded his arms over his chest and turned his body to face hers. He stared at her determinedly, willing her to look his way. It took some time, but she started to shift uncomfortably against the tree, clearly aware of his eyes on her. Finally, she looked up.

They stared at one another for a long moment. Then Dean jerked his head at her, and then he jerked his head at the van. He walked away, going around the side of the vehicle, away from the prying eyes of everyone else, suddenly very certain that everyone else was the reason she wouldn't get anywhere near him.

She cornered him around the front of the county transport van. Dean turned at the sound of her footsteps, leaning carelessly against the front bumper, smirking as he watched her stalk purposefully up to him. He raised his eyebrow and she stopped short, looking him dead in the eye.

"Why are you being so weird?" he asked, still smirking. His voice was teasing and provoking and he knew it. He couldn't control it.

Jayne didn't seem to care. She ignored the question completely. "You all right?" she demanded, her voice raspy like she'd forgotten how to use it. Sometimes he wondered if maybe she did forget how it use it, if only occasionally.

He nodded, turning briefly serious. "I'm fine." Then he smirked again. "You? You _are_ the one with the stitches."

"Don't worry about me," she retorted. "Everything's fine. _You_ are the one who almost got shot."

"And I'm fine too."

There was a long, awkward pause. Dean watched her expectantly, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned sideways against the van. He couldn't keep the small smirk off his face. Jayne did not look amused. She'd folded her arms in front of her too, but there was nothing casual about the straight, rigid stance she had taken up across from him. She glared at him. He watched her mouth move almost imperceptibly, her glare hardening as she struggled inwardly with her words before figuring out how to voice them out loud.

"Don't do that again," she ordered.

His smirk spread into a genuine smile. "Don't do what again?"

"Almost get yourself killed," she snapped. "I don't like it, ok?"

Dean grinned wider. "You were worried about me."

"Shut up."

"You _were._"

Suddenly, she was in his face and Dean contemplated surrender and an apology. But she didn't yell at him or smack him… she grabbed him by his coat and pulled him against her chest, planting a hard, long, solid kiss right on his smirking mouth.

His arms fell to his sides in his surprise. Then he melted into the kiss, leaning in against her as she pressed her chest into his chest and opened her mouth against his mouth. He let her in with an involuntary moan, and stumbled slightly as she pushed him harder against the van. The backs of his legs hit the grille, and he nearly tumbled backwards over the hood. Warmth spread from his gut to his groin and suddenly he was reaching for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing her closer against him.

That's when she let go of him, breaking the kiss and stepping back. Dean frowned from where he was half sprawled on the hood of the van, watching as she took a deep, steadying breath and ruffled her hair with one hand. Jayne hesitated, and then visibly steeled herself. "I'm glad you're ok," she admitted. "I… I didn't like… don't do that again."

"Don't get arrested for murder by a psychotic cop who wants to kill me?" Dean asked. He couldn't help smirking at her some more. "No promises, Goldilocks."

"Jackass," she retorted, turning on her heel and walking away.

"I knew you were worried!" he called after her triumphantly.

She gave him the finger without turning around. Then she vanished around the corner of the van. Dean grinned stupidly, slumping against the van again and running a hand over his hair. He leaned there for a moment, catching his breath, trying to stop all his blood from rushing straight to his junk.

It wasn't really working out that well.

Once he was reasonably under control, he pushed himself off the vehicle and walked around the other side of it, headed for where he'd left the others. Jayne had joined her sister in the road, finally getting her to stop pacing. Sam was approaching Diana, and the policewoman was getting to her feet now, her silent vigil over Pete apparently at an end.

Dean joined Diana and Sam some distance from Pete's body. Jayne led Lynn to the huddle as well, and Diana gave each one of them a hard, scrutinizing look. "You doing all right?" Sam asked her needlessly as she approached. It was obvious that she wasn't.

"Not really," Diana answered honestly, before changing the subject. "The death omen Claire… what happens to her now?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably at that question. Jayne was staring at the ground again, but he caught Lynn's eye over Diana's head, and she looked equally shifty.

"It should be over," Sam told Diana earnestly. "She should be at rest."

He sounded like he believed it, and it was possible he was right. That was the way it _should_ be. Claire _should_ be at rest. Should meant nothing. The truth was none of them really knew the answer.

But Dean had more pressing concerns on his mind. "So, uh…" he quirked his lips at her, hoping she thought he was charming. "What now, officer?"

Diana did not look charmed, but she did look willing to help. "Pete did confess to me," she said. "He screwed up both your cases royally… I'd say there was a good chance we could get the charges dismissed."

Sam sighed in relief. "You can take care of that for us?"

"I hope so," Diana replied, smiling. But the smile didn't last, and she shook her head in apology, looking at Dean. "But the St. Louis murder charges?" She turned her eyes on Jayne next. "The double homicide in Brooklyn? That's another story. I can't help you."

Dean knew he shouldn't be surprised, but that didn't stop the disappointment, followed by instant dread. He dropped the charming act and studied the ground. Jayne didn't react; but then, she was usually the practical one. She'd been expecting the blow.

"Unless…" Diana began. Dean looked up hopefully. "I just happen to turn my back and you walked away? I could tell them that the suspects escaped."

Jayne's head swung up from the ground now, her expression half hope and half disbelief. Lynn's meant to be subtle fist pump was anything but discreet. Dean just grinned, even though his brother hesitated.

"Wait," Sam objected. "Are you sure?"

Lynn shushed him immediately, elbowing him a little too aggressively. Sam winced, stumbling sideways.

"Of course she's sure, Sam," Dean spoke up. _Shut up, Sam_.

"No, it's just… you could lose your job over something like that," he pointed out, looking at Diana, waiting for her to change her mind.

Dean shook his head. It was true, but there was no way in hell he was hanging for a murder he didn't commit. There was no way in hell he was letting Jayne go down for the shit that happened in Brooklyn, either.

"Look, I just want all of you out there, doing what you do best," Diana retorted. Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief. She wasn't changing her mind. "Trust me; I'll sleep better at night."

Sam still looked unconvinced, but thankfully he kept his stupidly noble mouth shut.

"Thank you," Lynn announced sincerely, holding eye contact with Diana. She started to walk away, dragging Jayne along behind her, and Dean made to follow. Diana stopped them all with a warning.

"Listen, you've got to watch yourselves," she said. "They're going to be looking for all of you right now. Get out of here. I've got to radio this in."

Diana turned her back on them. The others started to walk away, but Dean hesitated, remembering something _very_ important. "Hey, uh… you wouldn't happen to know where my car is, by chance?" he asked the detective.

"It's at the impound yard on Robertson," she replied… and instantly seemed to regret it. "Don't even think about it."

Yeah, right. Like he was leaving without his baby.

"It's ok, it's all right," Sam reassured her. "Don't worry. We'll, uh… we'll just improvise. I mean… we're pretty good at that."

Diana smiled again – a real smile this time. "Yeah, I've noticed."

This time they left and she didn't stop them. She stood in the grass by the van, watching the four of them start the trek back up the dirt road to where Jayne had left her truck. Dean was already planning how he was going to steal his car back from the impound lot.

"Nice lady," Sam commented as they jogged up the road.

"Yeah," Dean returned. "For a cop."

"Please," Lynn interjected, rolling her eyes. "She just saved your ass – _both_ of your asses."

She directed this statement at both Dean and Jayne. Sam smiled as Lynn narrowed her eyes at them and pointed her finger accusingly back and forth between them. Jayne rolled her eyes and made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. Dean smirked.

"Yeah," he admitted easily. "Hey, did she look familiar to anyone?"

Lynn scrunched up her face incredulously. Jayne rolled her eyes. "No," Sam replied, frowning. "Why?"

"I don't know. Hey, you hungry?"

"No."

"Man, for some reason, I could really go for some pea soup."


End file.
